All I Ever Wanted
by Celtic Knot
Summary: [The Paths We Are Given, Part 4] The Reapers have been destroyed, and by some miracle, Rhiannon Shepard has survived. Now begins the work of rebuilding shattered lives as she and Kolyat lean on each other for support. But when an assassination attempt leaves Shepard once again fighting for her life, Kolyat must decide how like—or unlike—his father he really is.
1. Prologue: Heroes

_For guest user abirdinflight, whose comment on "Requiem" over on AO3 gave me the idea, and for soignees, whose writing of Kolyat inspired me to get off my duff and actually do it._

* * *

 **All I Ever Wanted**

 _Prologue: Heroes_

" _All I ever wanted was a place to call my home,  
_ _To shelter me when I am there, and to miss me when I'm gone.  
_ _All I ever wanted was a place to call my own,  
_ _Where stars will dance and sun still shines and the storms feel free to roam."_

— _Shinedown, "All I Ever Wanted"_

 _Earth, 2186_

Anybody else would have been dead.

Maybe it was her Cerberus cybernetics, maybe it was the way that particular chunk of the Citadel had fallen, or maybe it was just her particular brand of sheer dumb luck, but somehow, against all odds, Rhiannon Shepard had survived. Broken, bloodied, and utterly spent, she had given her last effort to see the Reapers destroyed—and yet at the very edge of Kalahira's shore, the Goddess had turned her away.

It honestly surprised Kolyat that he wasn't angry. That Kalahira, who had accepted his father with open arms, had sent back this woman who seemed sometimes almost eager to cross the sea, should have infuriated him. It wasn't fair! Why was she so important that the galaxy still couldn't go on without her? The Alliance certainly thought she'd done enough—they'd given her a promotion and a medical retirement. She had no duties, no family, not even a home to go back to. No children to care for. Just a handful of friends who, though they would never admit it, were already mourning her. Her destiny had been fulfilled. Hadn't it?

Then again, perhaps Father's had, too. After all, if he hadn't gotten himself killed defending Councilor Valern, his Kepral's would have ended him by now. Or he'd have died when the Reapers took the Citadel—it was only by a miracle of Arashu that Kolyat had survived that.

 _The Citadel shudders, groans, squeals. The stench of death fills my lungs. The keeper tunnels are dark, cramped, and hot, but I'm safe for now._

 _When the shaking stops, I clutch my pistol tight, take a deep breath, and run._

 _The Reapers' abominations are everywhere. They open fire as soon as they see me, but I don't stop. I shoot back, firing blind over my shoulder, running, running for the tiny maintenance pod. I'm not likely to make it far, but I'd rather be blown out of the sky than torn apart by these…_ things.

 _A bullet rips into my thigh, but the bone-chilling screech of a Banshee propels me onward. Running, running._

 _The pod hatch is code-locked. I'm dead, I'm so dead. With a silent prayer to whatever Gods are listening, I switch on my omni-tool and Overload the panel._

 _It opens, and I dive inside, slamming it shut behind me the instant a Husk catches the collar of my jacket. The once-human arm falls to the deck, twitching, and finally stills. I try not to look at it as I slap frantically at the controls._ Get me out of here! _The docking clamps release, and I burn the thrusters for all they're worth._

 _I see a planet out the window—Earth. I laugh. Appropriately, there is a human saying: out of the frying pan, and into the fire._

 _I am going to die._

 _I breathe a final prayer to Kalahira as the ground rushes up to meet me. Everything goes black on impact._

 _But then I wake up, and it's all over. I'm alive._

"Are you sure about this, Kolyat?"

A voice jarred him out of the memory, and a taloned hand landed gently on his shoulder. Kolyat shrugged it off roughly. He turned to look up at Garrus, gritting his teeth and meeting the turian's concern with determination. "I'm sure." He drew a deep, steadying breath as he focused his gaze back on the comatose woman in the hospital bed. Arashu preserve him, he'd spent far too much time standing helplessly over hospital beds lately. "She… I owe it to her. I owe it to my father."

Garrus fidgeted, still reluctant to leave. "Because if you're not, I can stay. You know, until she wakes up."

The unspoken words hung in the air between them, breathless and insistent and studiously, deliberately ignored. _If she wakes up._

"I said I'm sure," Kolyat ground out impatiently. "There's nothing you can do here." Tears stung at his eyes; he ignored them, too. "And there's nothing I can do anywhere else."

Tali tugged lightly at Garrus's arm. "Come on," she said softly. "The flotilla is leaving for Palaven in a few minutes." She turned to Kolyat, and he could just make out the glow of her eyes behind her mask. "You'll call us if… if anything changes, right?"

Kolyat gave her a slight bow. "Of course."

"You take care of her for me." The worried flutter of Garrus's mandibles gave the lie to his gruff rumble as he reached out to shake Kolyat's hand. "And if you need anything, you know where to reach me."

"I will. Thank you."

Tali stood silently for a brief moment, wringing her hands nervously, then abruptly rushed forward and flung her arms around Kolyat's neck. He stiffened in surprise, then slowly and awkwardly returned her embrace as she whispered hoarsely, "Thane would be so proud of you."

There had been a time, so very long ago, when that had been all he'd ever wanted.

Before he could formulate a response around the sudden lump in his throat, she released him and went to stand by Shepard's bedside, her right hand extended as if in benediction. _"Keelah se'lai,_ Shepard," she intoned solemnly, and Kolyat could hear her tears in the wavering of her voice. "May the stars guide you on your journey, and the tides of light carry you home."

Garrus slid an arm around her shoulders, and with a nod of farewell to Kolyat, guided her gently out of the room and toward their waiting shuttle.

The door whispered shut behind them, leaving Kolyat alone, with only his memories for company.


	2. State of My Head

_Author's Note: A huge thank you to my friends in the Mars Archives FB group for all your help nailing down a plausible setting!_

 _This fic took a hard left straight out of the gate. I had initially envisioned it as a mostly fluffy, kind of domestic, post-war-recovery sort of story. It… isn't. Hope you enjoy the ride!_

* * *

 _Chapter 1: State of My Head_

 _Mindoir, 2188_

How do you thank the hero who saved the entire galaxy?

According to the Systems Alliance brass, apparently with a promotion—two, actually—and a ridiculously generous retirement package. Housing, medical, everything she needed was taken care of by an endlessly grateful government. What was left of it, anyway. And on top of that, there were schools being named after her, holidays declared in her honor, and endless requests for appearances, interviews, autographs.

But it wasn't her victories, nor her accolades, that occupied the thoughts of Admiral Rhiannon Shepard (retired). Most of the time, she dwelt not on the lives she'd saved, but on those she'd lost.

As soon as she'd recovered from her injuries enough for sustained space travel, she had moved back to her home colony of Mindoir. The settlements had been rebuilt after the Midsummer Raid of 2170, and the colony was out-of-the-way enough to have been spared most of the Reapers' wrath, but… the grass wasn't quite the same shade of green as she remembered. The moon didn't shine as bright. The laughter that had once flowed like clear water was muddied with fear. The innocence of the place had been lost.

Or maybe it was just her own, Shepard reflected as she stared up at the side-by-side monuments that guarded the gates of the cemetery. Two slabs of polished black granite, reminiscent of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial back on Earth, simply listed the names of the dead. On the left were memorialized the victims of the Midsummer Raid. On the right, the dead of the _Normandy._

The names glared out at her from the stone, each one a reminder of her failures. The ones she hadn't been strong enough, or fast enough, or smart enough to save. But a few in particular stood out, stabbing into her heart like shards of glass and lodging there, bleeding.

 _LT Kaidan Alenko, 2151-2183._

 _Dr. Mordin Solus, 2153-2186._

 _Legion, 2183-2186._

 _EDI, 2185-2186._

And the hardest to look at, the inscription she never saw but blurred by tears: _Thane Krios, 2146-2186._

Even two years on, the loss of Thane still left a gaping hole inside her. Time had dulled its edges, perhaps, made it a little less raw. But still the emptiness remained, dark and aching, threatening to consume her entirely if only she would let it.

So she grasped onto something, anything, to keep from thinking about it. Today, it was the inscription itself. The dates. They were accurate, of course, but they looked… wrong. Misleading. Absurdly, it bothered her to think of future generations—hell, people even now who hadn't known him—reading it and doing the math. The history books that would say he had died at the age of forty.

Thane had never reached his fortieth birthday.

It was a stupid thing to fixate on, meaningless and inane, but it was better than staring into the yawning black void inside of her. She didn't want to know what would happen when the void started staring back.

A shadow fell across her back, and a hand gently squeezing her shoulder freed her from her reverie. She swiped the tears roughly from her cheeks and turned a wan smile up at Kolyat.

Shepard had spent eleven days in a coma after firing the Crucible, and had awakened to find herself an orphan for the second time in her life. She would find out later that Garrus and Tali had been on their way to Palaven with the combined turian and quarian flotillas: with the mass relays inoperative, a months-long journey only possible with the support of the Migrant Fleet. Ashley now commanded the _Normandy,_ with Joker still at the helm. Liara had thrown herself into repairing her vast web of contacts, using her resources as the Shadow Broker to begin to reestablish galactic communications. Vega, Cortez, and most of the others had been reassigned to various units stationed on Earth and the nearest colonies to help with the colossal task of rebuilding everything the Reapers had razed. All had sent what messages they could, and most even still stayed in touch, but it was Kolyat who had remained by her side on the long road to recovery.

When she'd first opened her eyes, she had been utterly bewildered. Her memories of the entire past year or so were just missing, and what remained was a jumble of dreamlike moments, half-remembered battles, and faces she could almost, but not quite, name. She couldn't understand why everything hurt so much, nor why her right leg now ended just below her knee. The doctors had poked and prodded and questioned and quizzed her for what seemed an eternity—and then one of the faces from her memory-dreams was there. A name had floated up out of the depths, bringing with it a tide of emotions that had brought tears of joy to her eyes. _Thane._

The look on Kolyat's face when she had called him by his father's name had been an agonizing fusion of panic and grief. He had turned wide eyes to the doctor, who had drawn him aside and murmured something about "retrograde amnesia" and "post-traumatic confusional state."

The confusion had cleared up eventually, though for a while her memories had still stopped shortly after the Collector base. The next nine weeks had been a painful blur of physical and psychological therapy, as she had learned to walk on her new prosthesis and as memories had triggered each other one after another. Piece by piece, the events of the past seventeen months had slotted back into place. It had been as though all the horrors of the war were happening at once. She'd had to be reminded time and again that it was all over. But Kolyat had been by her side the entire time, his presence sometimes quiet and solid, sometimes nervous and hovering, but she had always been glad for it regardless.

The night the memory of Thane's death had come back to her in a dream, she had awakened screaming his name. Kolyat had bust into her room in a panic, and she had spent the rest of the night sobbing in his arms as he stroked her hair with trembling fingers. He'd been so frightened for her. She had asked him why he'd stayed.

"Because you have no one else right now," he'd said simply. "And neither do I."

And so they had remained together after her mind and body were deemed sufficiently healed for her to be on her own. She had taken him in as she'd gotten settled on Mindoir, becoming a mentor of sorts to him as he'd been a caretaker to her. And things had gotten better. They had developed an easy friendship, helping one another begin to recover from the devastation the war had left behind.

Shepard's smile became more genuine as she met his eyes, black on black shining down at her with worry. He had come a long way from the bitter, angry, lonely boy she'd met on the Citadel three years ago, and she couldn't be more proud. He had grown up. Determined to do some good, he had channeled his restless energy into the police academy, of all things, and stood now in the blue and black uniform of Annwn's Hollow PD.

He was changing, unquestionably for the better. And there was something about him that was growing ever more achingly familiar. She sighed wistfully. "You look like your father today."

Kolyat chuckled. "I look like my father every day. It's how genetics work, _vo'triha."_

"I meant more so than usual, you ass," Shepard shot back, laughing and shoving his shoulder playfully. Then more seriously—and not without a trace of apprehension—she asked, "So, how did it go today?"

The smile fell from Kolyat's face and he looked down at the ground, tucking his hands behind his back and scowling. "Captain McGann won't even consider recommending me for the task force. Says she 'appreciates my enthusiasm,' but she wants officers with more experience."

Shepard didn't bother trying to hide the relief in her voice. "Good."

" _Good?"_ Kolyat's head snapped up, and he glared at her. "How is that _good?"_

"Because it proves Kelsey McGann is every bit as smart as I thought she was." Shepard met his flashing eyes evenly. "They think it's _Cerberus,_ Kolyat. You know exactly what kind of havoc they wreaked during the war. I don't want to see you getting anywhere near them."

An indignant growl erupted from Kolyat's throat as his lip curled in a sneer. "Oh, you don't, do you?" He folded his arms defiantly. "You are not my mother, Shepard, nor my lover. I understood the risks when I took this job. I thought you, of all people, would understand."

It took all the discipline still at her command to not smile at his reaction. Yes, he had grown and he had changed, but he was still in many ways the same old Kolyat. "I do understand," she said gently, "but I am your friend. Your _vo'triha._ I worry about you, and you can't stop me." She patted his shoulder reassuringly, marveling once again at how high she had to reach to do so. Shepard was not a tall woman, and Thane had only had a few centimeters on her. Kolyat fairly towered over her. "You'll get your chance, I promise."

"But _when?"_ Kolyat asked through gritted teeth. "She won't put me on your security detail for the ceremony next week, either."

Shepard frowned. "Why not?"

"Fuck if I know." Kolyat raked a hand over his crest, hissing. "I'm starting to wonder if it's because I'm the only non-human on the force," he ground out bitterly.

A little taken aback, Shepard considered that somewhat disturbing thought. Kelsey McGann was a veteran of the First Contact War and a survivor of the Midsummer Raid. Though Shepard didn't know her well, she could imagine how that might make one wary of aliens policing a human colony. And Annwn's Hollow was a small town, with that small-town tendency to be unforgiving of those perceived as being in any way different. "Do you want me to talk to her?" she asked. Usually, she hated using her "galactic hero" status to gain any favors, but if Kolyat felt this woman was deliberately holding him back—

"No!" Kolyat snapped. His hands balled into fists and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "No," he said more calmly, but still not without an edge of anger. "I need to do this on my own if McGann is going to take me seriously. I can't have you fighting my battles for me."

Shepard nodded. "Okay," she agreed. "But you know I've got your back if you need it."

"I know." Kolyat's shoulders slumped as he finally relaxed a little. "I just… it's frustrating." He sighed heavily and shook his head, looking up at the monuments and then back to Shepard. "You ready to do this?"

Slowly, Shepard bent and picked up the two wreaths of flowers that lay on the ground at her feet. Steadying herself with her cane and with Kolyat's hand at the small of her back, she proceeded into the cemetery toward her parents' graves.


	3. Misfits

_Chapter 2: Misfits_

Living on a human colony had taken a lot of adjustment. Not that he wasn't used to living with aliens—Gods knew, drell were more accustomed to that than most. But this wasn't Kahje, where every possible accommodation had been made for the drell living there; nor was it the Citadel, cosmopolitan and diverse. With most of the fleets effectively stranded within a few weeks' travel of Earth, Kolyat was not quite the only alien to have ended up on Mindoir, but near enough that another non-human face was a rare sight indeed.

It wasn't the most welcoming of places. That he had arrived and still lived with Rhiannon Shepard had made it a little easier for him, perhaps, than for the small handful of asari and salarians he'd seen around the colony, but he still felt like an outsider, even after more than a year and a half. He had expected that going in, but that didn't mean he'd been entirely prepared for it.

 _Admiral Hackett stands ramrod straight as always, but on his face is a gentle smile. "We sure could use you on Earth, Shepard."_

 _She shakes her head. "No, you don't, Adm—Steven," she corrects herself when he raises an eyebrow at her. I'm momentarily distracted by how bushy his eyebrows are. Human hair is weird. "You need someone who knows how to swing a hammer. That's not me." She scrubs a hand down her face. I don't know if Hackett can see it, but I can read her soul-deep exhaustion in the slump of her shoulders, the deepening nest of fine lines at the corners of her eyes, and the slight tremor of her other hand on her cane._

 _She shouldn't even still need the cane. The doctor said her lingering difficulties with the prosthesis are psychosomatic. She won't listen._

" _Where will you go?" Hackett asks softly._

 _Shepard smiles, faintly and with more nostalgia than joy. "I'm thinking about going home. To Mindoir. I… I'm tired, Steven. I can't… I want to go home."_

 _The thought of her leaving makes me sad and a little bitter. I should have seen this coming. Nobody ever stays long. But I guess I've imposed myself on her life long enough._

 _Hackett frowns, all fatherly concern. "Alone? Shepard, are you sure? Do you still even know anyone there?"_

" _Alone, yes. Unless…" She trails off—and looks at me._

 _I blink in surprise. "You want me to move to_ Mindoir _with you?"_

 _The words come out sounding much harsher than I intended, if their faces are any indication. Shepard looks hurt, and I think Hackett would try to throttle me if he wasn't halfway across the solar system communicating by QEC. "I mean, yeah, definitely," I stammer. Where else would I go? Where else_ could _I go? "I'm just… a little surprised you'd want me there."_

 _The way she looks at me then, a flash of memory shows me the sunset in her eyes. "Of course I want you there, Kolyat," she says. "After everything you've done for me these past few months—I'd be lost without you."_

" _I…" I'm relieved, touched, and a little frightened all at once. Tears burn in in my eyes, but what emotion is causing them, I'm not sure. "Okay."_

 _Hackett nods his approval. "You take care of her, son," he says._

 _That's the second time one of her friends has said that to me. I'm not sure if it means that they trust me, or that they don't. "Yes, sir," I reply. But even I can hear the apprehension in my voice._

He wasn't entirely without friends here. Most of his fellow officers on the police force had accepted him readily—even Captain McGann, as much as he doubted her motives in the assignments she gave him, had never been openly hostile. His neighbors, too, had long since stopped treating him differently. People who got to know him usually learned to like him (or not) based on more than his species. But those who didn't know him usually reacted with sidelong glances, whispers, and suspicion. Everyone in the colony certainly seemed to know _about_ him: usually just as "the drell"—or worse, "Shepard's drell." It made his scales itch. Mindoir, and small settlements like Annwn's Hollow in particular, harbored strong anti-alien sentiments that Kolyat feared would never entirely die.

And then there was the food. Oh dear sweet precious Arashu, the food. Humans consumed meat in quantities that were almost nauseating—especially considering they weren't obligate carnivores like turians—and almost no insects at all. And since imports of any kind were almost entirely out of the question, Kolyat had ended up adopting a mostly vegetarian diet. It had taken days of research to figure out how to get adequate nutrition out of exclusively Earth-native foods, and some of his colleagues seemed to think he was deliberately trying to make things more difficult for himself. It certainly caused him no end of (mostly) good-natured ribbing at work.

Of course, there was the culture shock, too. Living on the Citadel amidst throngs of asari, turians, salarians, humans, krogan, and many others, it had been easy to think of himself as worldly. But the galactic melting pot was nothing compared to being fully immersed in one people's ways. Alien holidays, marked by alien rituals honoring alien gods. Utterly unintelligible figures of speech. Day-to-day customs that those around him thought nothing of, but made no sense whatsoever to him.

And cemeteries. Even after all this time, Kolyat still found the thought of burying the dead in the ground deeply unsettling. Drell of the Old Faith returned their dead to the sea, a gesture symbolic of the journey the soul would make to Kalahira's Shore. As the waves carried the body away, so too would the soul be carried. It was only a remnant of an ancient and far more literal belief system, certainly, but that didn't rob it of its significance.

Humans didn't share the concept of body and soul working as one. To them, so Kolyat understood, the body was merely a vessel for the soul that inhabited it, nothing more. And so when that soul departed upon the body's death, the disposition of the body mattered little except to those left behind.

Even knowing that, though, Kolyat couldn't shake off the dread he felt every time he came here with Shepard. As though the souls of the dead, trapped and suffocating in the earth, were reaching out from their graves, grasping at him with rotting fingers and threatening to drag him down with them. He never said anything to her about it, though, not since his initial expression of disbelief when she'd first told him about the practice.

 _I'm not sure I've heard her correctly. "I'm sorry, did you say…_ buried?"

 _She frowns at me. "Yes, buried. Most human cultures bury their dead. You didn't know that?"_

 _I swallow hard, avoiding her eyes. "I never had a reason to."_

" _Fair enough." Shepard studies me for a moment. "It freaks you out a little, doesn't it?"_

 _It takes me a moment to make sense of the idiom. "I find it… a little disturbing, yes," I reply honestly. By now, I know her better than to worry she'll take offense._

 _And she doesn't. "You don't have to come with me if it bothers you," she says as she shrugs into her jacket._

He had considered staying behind that day, the first time she'd gone to visit her parents' graves. He'd thought it macabre—still did, to be honest. But it was important to her, and he had seen the disappointment in her eyes. It had been something she wanted to share with him.

Few indeed were the people who had ever invited him into their lives like this. Truth be told, if he discounted his childhood, she was the only one. Even Father had maintained a respectful distance after he'd come back, as if afraid to push him too hard. Shepard had no such compunctions.

Perhaps that was a cultural difference as well. Coming from anyone else, Kolyat might have taken her various expressions of affection as romantic interest. And it was highly uncommon on Kahje for two otherwise unrelated adult drell to live together without at least the intention to marry. But Shepard wasn't a drell, and apparently, humans frequently took "room mates" who weren't actually mates in any sense he knew of the word. And the way she treated him wasn't so much romantic as… motherly.

Kolyat scowled to himself as the word whispered itself in his ear. _Shepard is_ not _your mother,_ he thought firmly.

He was pulled out of his musings when Shepard came to a stop beside him. Looking down, his gaze fell on the large headstone they had stood before so many times already.

 _ **SHEPARD**_

 _In Loving Memory  
_ _of  
_ _ **Rhys Thomas**  
_ _September 3, 2134 – April 17, 2170_

 _And his beloved Wife  
_ _ **Hannah E. Morgan**  
_ _January 31, 2131 – April 17, 2170_

" _I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night." —Sarah Williams_

Kolyat had once read the poem from which the epitaph had been taken, and it struck him as entirely inappropriate. The work was about an old man dying peacefully, passing on a few last words of wisdom to his student. Rhys and Hannah Shepard, by contrast, had perished terrified and screaming in the batarian slave raid that had nearly destroyed the colony. But their daughter had designed the monument herself, and it wasn't really Kolyat's place to even have an opinion. It seemed to be as much about comforting the living as honoring the dead. So he said nothing.

Slowly and with some difficulty, Shepard knelt in front of the stone, laying her cane on the ground and placing the flowers on either side of the grave as she murmured under her breath. Talking to them. Kolyat stepped back, hands clasped behind him, giving her some privacy. Most humans, he'd noticed, engaged in some form of ancestor worship, though they usually wouldn't call it that. He thought it quaint, but at the same time, he could see how it might be comforting, even beneficial. If he could have believed, truly believed, that Mother was watching over him from across the sea… his life might have been very different indeed.

The sound of his own name drew his attention. "And Kolyat's doing great, he's been really amazing," Shepard was saying. He felt his frills flush hot at his accidental eavesdropping and began to back away further, but she glanced over her shoulder at him and her smile said she'd wanted him to overhear. "You'd be proud of him, Dad. I know I am."

Kolyat dipped his head, resisting the urge to bow in deference to a man who wasn't actually there.

When she was finished, she picked up her cane, and Kolyat was at her side in an instant, extending a hand to help her up. She didn't really need it, but it was a habit they'd both fallen into during the long weeks of her recovery. Neither of them ever mentioned it. It had become comforting—to both of them, he suspected. Part of the companionship they'd come to share.

The walked in silence until they emerged from the front gate. As he passed the monuments that marked the entrance, Kolyat felt as though a weight had been lifted off his chest. The sunshine seemed brighter, the twittering of birds less muted. Even the breeze seemed to pick up. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if able to breathe freely for the first time since they'd entered. It was all in his imagination, of course. But still, he kept his back turned to the grim forest of stone as Shepard paused to read the names on the _Normandy_ memorial once more. She never passed it by without reading every one. It was her way of honoring their memories.

 _She stops so abruptly I almost run into her. "Oh," she says softly. Her hand covers her mouth, and tears spill silently from her eyes. She just stands there like that, unmoving, staring at the stone slab to the right of the gate. It still bears the marks of new construction._

 _The Systems Alliance seal gleams in polished bronze at the top of the monument. Below that, words I cannot read, carved in the stone in Shepard's native English. I step back and open a translation program on my omni-tool, but I can guess at what it says._

 _Under the seal is the name and registry number of what was once her ship, the_ SSV Normandy. _And then, in two neat, somber columns, the names of her crewmen who gave their lives in the Reaper War. Even the AIs are remembered as heroes. My father's name is there, too. Shepard trails her fingers across the letters, her breath hitching as she—_

The sudden impact of Shepard's cane across his shoulder blades startled him out of the memory. "Ow," he grumbled, though it hadn't actually hurt.

"You coming, fraidy cat?" Shepard grinned up at him, chuckling at his scowl. "Oh, come on, I know you use that perfect memory of yours to distract yourself from how much you hate this place."

"I don't—"

"Yes, you do. It's okay." She looped her arm through his, her expression growing more serious. "Kolyat… thank you for coming with me. I mean it."

Kolyat gazed down at her, memory superimposing the past onto the present. The first time he'd seen her, those brilliant green eyes had been diamond-hard, her face all stern angles, her hair pulled back severely. Now her face was a little softer, her hair hung loose in long copper-colored waves down her back, and her eyes had lost their hard-edged stare. But the strength was still there, the power that made her, even in retirement, a force of nature unto herself. He suddenly felt privileged to know her, and to call her his friend.


	4. Nowhere Kids

_Chapter 3: Nowhere Kids_

"Hey Mike, did you see? There's another one."

"Another what?"

"Another goddamned alien. A drell. Just got here this afternoon with the transport full o' refugees."

"Shit. This keeps up, we won't be callin' Mindoir a human colony much longer."

"I know, right? Next thing you know, we'll be building 'em domes to live in. They'll be expecting us to bend over backwards to _accommodate_ 'em, just like the hanar do."

"Well, I dunno 'bout that, Dev. Shepard's drell ain't like that. He's earnin' his keep."

"Yeah, sure. As a _cop._ Alien cops on human colonies? You mark my words, this is gonna be Shanxi all over again. Trust me, I grew up there."

"Uh-huh, right. And how old were you during the Occupation? Five? Besides, that was turians. The drell ain't never waged war on nobody."

 _Except ourselves,_ Kolyat thought distractedly. These two small-minded provincials didn't know the first thing about his people or their history. But it wasn't their willful ignorance that caught his attention.

 _There was another drell on Mindoir._ Just a rumor, certainly, but the thrill of excitement that shot through him at the idea made him giddy with its intensity. It wasn't without a twinge of guilt, though—he was making a life here among the humans. He had a career, a future. Shepard had given him so much, not the least of which was the opportunity for a fresh start. _Again._ Wasn't it ungrateful of him to feel this way?

He shook his head, pushing the thought aside to examine later.

Kolyat had parked his squad skycar near the courtyard, windows open to the warm breeze, to catch up on some reports he had to write. He'd put the datapads down when he'd heard the two men talking, however, and now he emerged from the vehicle, smirking as Mike's eyes widened. Dev, his back turned, nattered on obliviously.

"Anyway, I heard the new drell's a female," he was saying, and though Kolyat couldn't see his face, he could recognize the leer in his posture. "Maybe Krios'll find himself a girlfriend."

"Dev—"

"No, wait, he's fucking Admiral Shepard, ain't he?" Dev crowed, laughing out loud, and Kolyat shook his head in annoyance as he approached on silent feet. "Man, I wouldn't wanna be him when he tries to leave her!"

Much to Kolyat's amusement, Mike was struggling mightily to subtly redirect his friend's attention, but to no avail. "Shut _up,_ Dev," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"What?" Dev scoffed loudly. "You know as well as I do, none o' the aliens really give a damn about humans. No matter who they…" He trailed off as he finally got the hint, turned—

—and backpedaled so fast he nearly bowled Mike over. Kolyat had gotten so close, he could have leaned in and whispered in the man's ear. "Jesus Christ, Krios!" Dev yelped. "You tryin'a give me a heart attack?"

Kolyat folded his arms. "That would require you to have one in the first place, Mr. Reynolds," he deadpanned.

"Ha-ha-ha, real funny, _Officer,"_ Dev shot back. "Whaddaya want, anyway? Or are you just here to harass a coupla law-abidin' citizens?"

Shaking his head, Kolyat replied, "This is my beat. It's my job to get to know you… fine gentlemen." He raised his brow ridge. "And I couldn't help but overhear what you were discussing. What's this about the refugees?"

Mike elbowed Dev in the side. "I _told_ you to shut up," he grumbled.

But Kolyat wasn't interested in calling them out on their xenophobia. It rankled, probably always would, but he couldn't exactly arrest them for it. Even if what he really wanted was to put them both on their asses.

He tried to keep his questions casual, despite his irritation. "Know anything about the people who arrived on that ship?"

Dev snorted. "You're askin' me? What, like the police don't have better information?"

Kolyat had indeed known about the incoming refugees—even two years after the end of the war, it wasn't uncommon for displaced civilians to resettle on colonies that had been left mostly intact. Each time a transport was scheduled to arrive on Mindoir, a bulletin was put out to all of the colony's police departments. But he had long since stopped reading the passenger manifests in detail. He'd been assigned "welcome wagon" duty, as some of his colleagues put it, only once, when an asari had settled in Annwn's Hollow. Captain McGann preferred to let human officers assist the human arrivals. It left Kolyat feeling a little out of the loop.

Not that Dev and Mike needed to know any of that. "Seems you two have some pretty strong opinions about the new arrivals. One in particular."

Mike rubbed the back of his neck, having the good grace at least to look sheepish. "Heard that, did ya?"

"Who cares if he did?" Dev snapped. "He knows his kind ain't welcome here." He glared belligerently at Kolyat, as if daring him to argue.

Kolyat swallowed a growl. _He's baiting you. Just let him rant._

But Dev, ever the perceptive asshole, continued to goad him. "I dunno what makes you aliens think you have the right to just settle here like you belong or something. What, just 'cause the Reapers passed us over makes us some kinda sanctuary for the whole damn galaxy?"

 _Don't engage him._

"Only reason you're even here is 'cause of Shepard, anyway. What happened, lizard boy, your mama didn't want ya?"

Oh, but that was too much. A black could of seething rage settled over Kolyat's mind at the words, threatening to drag him into a full-blown battle-sleep, and he clenched his jaw, baring his teeth with a snarl as his hands balled into fists. He took a menacing step forward, _how dare he,_ just itching to knock him into—

His omni-tool vibrated once against his wrist, signaling the end of his shift. Startled out of his furious haze, Kolyat blinked twice as he caught himself, and backed down, his frills flushing hot with embarrassment. He forced his fingers to uncurl as he turned on his heel and stalked back toward his skycar.

"Yeah, that's right, walk away," Dev sneered. "Don't make me report you to your boss. _Again."_

* * *

" _Kolyat, she's right. You can't just go around decking people who insult you. Off duty or not."_

 _I grit my teeth. How can she not get it? "I seem to remember you hitting me once, when I needed a wake-up call," I growl._

 _Shepard glares at me. "There is a_ distinct _difference between making racist comments and holding a gun to someone's head, buddy. Like it or not, this Reynolds didn't do anything illegal. You did. You're damn lucky he didn't press charges."_

 _I can't believe what I'm hearing. "Shepard… after the things he said to me… you're_ defending _him?" I demand._

" _I'm not defending him. I'm defending Captain McGann. She was right to take disciplinary action against you." She sighs and lays a hand on my shoulder. "Kolyat, I understand how upset you are—"_

 _I swat her hand away, suddenly seeing red. "Oh, you do, do you?" I snap. "Rhiannon Shepard, hero of Elysium, golden girl of the Systems Alliance, savior of the galaxy, favorite daughter of Mindoir, knows what it's like to deal with_ racism. _You know_ exactly _what it's like to be looked down on, sneered at, literally spat on! You know just how it feels to be hated for nothing more than what you look like._ Day in and day out. _Forgive me, but that's_ crap."

 _I fully expect her to get defensive, to fire back some meaningless platitude or something. Or maybe to yell at me. But instead, her whole demeanor softens, and her eyes widen. "Is… is it really that bad?" she asks quietly. It's not that she doesn't believe me—she genuinely doesn't know. The realization gives me pause._

 _Am I exaggerating? Maybe just a little. But if I have to jump up and down and scream just to be heard, so be it! "Yes!" I snarl, but the anger is already draining away. "No. I don't know, maybe." I scrub one hand down my face, hissing in frustration. "What am I supposed to do,_ vo'triha? _Just stand there and take it? How is that supposed to change anything?"_

 _She doesn't have an answer._

Kolyat shook his head as he opened the door to the home he shared with Shepard, allowing the music that greeted him to pull him out of the uncomfortable memory. Shepard was playing her piano again, as she often did. She had studied the instrument for years as a child, and had picked it up again after the war. It had become her escape when memories threatened to drag her under, too.

He had learned he could often judge her mood, and sometimes even pinpoint what she was thinking about, by the repertoire she chose. Today, it was the first movement of a sonata by the human composer Beethoven, called "Moonlight." Kolyat thought the title somewhat incongruous: the piece sounded to him rather like oceans and darkness. The melody was melancholy, and the accompaniment rolled gently along like the swells of the sea. Every now and then, the music would crescendo, the harmonies would darken, and the tempo would start to quicken, as if the sorrow were about to transmute to anger—but it would subside in the next instant, the tide pulling out, and remain mournfully reflective. And the last few bars, trailing slowly off into the low register, made Kolyat think of drowning.

He hated it.

She was thinking about Father. She only ever played the "Moonlight" sonata when she was dwelling on him. Though human memories weren't sharp enough to create a state of true _tu-fira,_ it was as close as she came. Her eyes were closed—he wasn't even sure she was aware he'd come home.

He nodded a greeting anyway as he slipped off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. He logged into the police department server at the extranet terminal and pulled up the bulletin about the incoming refugees, opening up the attached passenger manifest and skimming the list of names. His heart pounded at the thought that the rumor might actually be true. He held his breath as he read, hardly daring to hope…

There. "Goddess of oceans," he breathed.

The music stopped abruptly, and Kolyat glanced over at Shepard just in time to see her eyes pop open in surprise. "Kolyat, hey. I didn't hear you come in," she said. She frowned as he simply continued to stare at her, speechless. "Kolyat? Are you okay?"

"Shepard… it's true. There's another drell on Mindoir! She arrived on the transport earlier today." A wave of homesickness crashed over him as he spoke, hardly daring to believe it.

She smiled warmly. "That's great!" she replied with genuine happiness. "You should go introduce yourself. I know how lonely you've—"

Kolyat interrupted her with a shake of his head. "Come here and look at this. Look at her name."

Shepard quirked a skeptical eyebrow at him, but picked up her cane and limped over to the terminal, switching the readout to English. "Valka Nuara," she said slowly. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"To start with, her given name—it's not a name, it's… sort of a title," said Kolyat. "You know how Father used to call you _siha?_ Well, _valka_ is kind of similar: an angel of Kalahira, a fearsome creature of wrath and judgement who drags wicked souls into the Depths before they can cross the sea." He swallowed hard. "And the clan name… it's the same one Father used at the hospital."

Shepard's eyes widened. "So it's an assumed name. Do you think… do you think she knew him?"

Kolyat snatched his jacket back off the chair. "I think there's only one way to find out."


	5. I Dare You

_Chapter 4: I Dare You_

The refugee center in Mindoir's capital city of Caer Sidi bore little resemblance to the cramped, dirty, barely livable camps on the docks of the Citadel during the war. It was well-maintained and efficiently run, and by all accounts comfortable. There were never many people there at once: the colony didn't lack for space or resources, so most didn't stay in the apartment-like accommodations for more than a few days before finding permanent housing.

And, Amonkira be praised, the record-keeping was immaculate. All Kolyat had to do was flash his badge at the municipal employee manning the reception desk, and he was given access to everything the center had on Valka Nuara, neatly organized and complete.

The receptionist handed him a datapad with a smile. "Here you are, Officer Krios," she chirped cheerfully. "All of Miss Nuara's files. I think you'll find everything's in order."

"Selle," Kolyat corrected absently as he began to page through the documents.

"Pardon?"

Kolyat looked up at her, a little startled when he realized what he'd said. "She's a drell. It's 'Selle Nuara,' not 'Miss.'" He huffed in annoyance, waving a hand dismissively. Why did he even bother? "Never mind. It means the same thing, anyway. Thank you for this."

"You're welcome," she replied. "Oh, you might want to know, she isn't staying here. _Selle_ Nuara—" she pronounced the honorific with a little too much _z,_ so it was almost "zell," but Kolyat didn't bother to correct her again— "already had housing lined up before she arrived."

Kolyat raised his brow ridge. "Do you know where?"

"I think she's headed your way, Officer. Annwn's Hollow." She gestured to the datapad in his hands. "It's in the files."

"Again, thank you," Kolyat said with a slight bow. "You've been very helpful."

Leaving the receptionist to her duties, Kolyat sat in his skycar, still in the center's small parking lot, to read over the documents. Pretty standard stuff. Valka Nuara was forty-three years old, with no living family. She had been a war correspondent for the Illuminated Primacy. The ship she'd been attached to had been destroyed in the battle for Earth, but she and a few of the crew had made it off the vessel in escape pods, landing at the Alliance training grounds on Luna. She sought now to resettle on Mindoir, looking to make a career as a journalist. Nothing stood out as questionable.

It was frustrating—though he knew this woman was operating under a false identity, everything checked out. The interview transcripts revealed nothing suspicious. All of her identifying documents were genuine, as far as he could tell, bearing the official seal of the Illuminated Primacy. They had to be forgeries, but they were damn good ones. Even her background check was clean.

Wait. The background check. Kolyat flipped back to the page where her family members were listed, and took a close look at the names there. Nuara was a common enough clan name on Kahje, and therefore a sensible alias. But something had caught his eye as he'd skimmed it over… yes, there it was. A brother.

A brother she hadn't seen in nearly twenty-five years. A brother who, records indicated, had died of Kepral's Syndrome on the Citadel two years ago. A brother named Tannor Nuara.

Just like that, the pieces started to fall into place. Father had told him that the false identity he'd given the Huerta Memorial staff was an old one from his Compact days, that he had often used working jobs on the Citadel. It had been easier, he'd said, than fabricating an entirely new background. But that identity was somehow connected to this woman.

Because of course it was. Gods damn it all, _why_ did everything in his life have to circle back to Father? When could he stop atoning for Father's sins? When could he start living life on his own terms?

 _Shepard looks skeptical. "The police academy? You want to be a cop?" She blinks at me, her jaw hanging slack in surprise. "Kolyat, I will support you no matter what decision you make, but… why?"_

 _I hesitate. "Shepard, I know you loved my father, so please don't take this the wrong way," I hedge, "but to use your own words, he was a professional criminal. A murderer for hire. I don't want to end up like him, and… this is about as far from that as I can imagine."_

 _But just as I was afraid she would, she takes offense. Her whole face hardens, and she glares at me. "I want you to think about this long and hard, Kolyat," she bites out, and there's a coldness to her voice that she hasn't used with me in a long time. "That's an awfully big decision to make solely to spite your father."_

" _Depths take it, that's not what I meant!" I rake my hand over my crest, hissing in frustration and staring down at the floor. "Look…" I bite down on a growl as I fumble for words. "He told me once that for as many bad things as he'd taken out of the world, I was the only good thing he ever added to it. I want to live up to that. I… I need to live up to that." I raise my eyes back to hers, praying she'll understand._

 _And I think she does. Her entire body relaxes, and she smiles faintly. "I see," she says softly. "But I want you to ask yourself this: are you doing this for him, or for you? It's your life, Kolyat—don't waste it on someone else's expectations. Not Thane's. Not mine. Yours."_

 _I nod once, firmly. "I know. I want this."_

He shook himself out of the memory with a snarl.

As far as Kolyat knew, Father had been an only child, so the idea that Selle Nuara was actually his sister was unlikely. But combined with the impeccable documentation… perhaps the IP seals weren't forgeries after all. Perhaps this woman was a Compact assassin. It would explain the deep cover, and it provided a plausible link to Father.

But of course, it also begged the question: _who was her target?_

* * *

She stood out here.

Even after more than thirty years of experience, there were still challenges to be had. Every assignment, every mark was different, and this one promised to put her skills to the test. Mindoir was a clever hideout, certainly—a human woman on a human colony would raise no questions at all, and she would certainly find like-minded neighbors here. It hadn't been terribly difficult to trace her to the small settlement of Annwn's Hollow, but it was necessary now to get close to her without attracting undue attention. Simply being drell would attract plenty, especially considering the target's history and known sympathies. This would be a delicate operation, indeed.

So she had decided, rather than trying to skulk in the shadows, to hide in plain sight. Aliens on Mindoir were few and far between, but not unheard of, and war refugees were still finding homes on less-affected planets. The assassin had resurrected an old alias she'd used on and off since her teenage years: one she had managed, despite her profession, to keep clean and not have to burn. But it had a traceable history, which she knew Mindoir's officials would look into when evaluating her refugee status. The less she had to have constructed from scratch, the more believable her cover would be.

And they had looked into it, thoroughly. And repeatedly. The Depths take them, human governments loved their gods-damned paperwork. It all had to be done _just so,_ too —especially for a non-human like her. In the aftermath of the war, paranoia and xenophobia were at an all-time high, and it had taken so long for her application to be processed, she had begun to wonder if she'd miss her target altogether.

She preferred not to think about the consequences of _that._

But all of her documents had been grudgingly approved with only days to spare before the Victory Day ceremony her target would be attending. So she had wasted no time in Caer Sidi. The hanar had had housing made available for her in Annwn's Hollow, and Valka Nuara, onetime war correspondent turned war refugee, set out to build a career as a freelance journalist on Mindoir.

The local populace didn't exactly welcome her with open arms. That neither surprised nor worried her—it made it that much easier to maintain the professional detachment she'd spent decades cultivating. Of course, it might make life difficult for an actual journalist, but she wouldn't have to worry about that for long.

What did take her by surprise was the presence of another drell living in this tiny town—and serving on its police force, no less, judging by his uniform. He had definitely taken notice of her, too. She caught him attempting to shadow her more than once, trying to be stealthy and subtle but failing utterly. Oh, his methods were probably entirely adequate for local law enforcement, but to one with her training and experience, his efforts were downright pitiable. It might have been funny if it weren't frankly annoying.

She considered checking up on him. If all was as it appeared, it would be a simple matter of an extranet search to find out who he was and what he was doing here; if—and she doubted very much this was the case—he was here under false pretenses, it might take a little more doing, but she was confident she could still find out easily enough. But he clearly posed no threat to her mission, so she didn't bother.

Well, that wasn't the only reason, if she were truly honest with herself. She'd caught sight of his face a few times, only to be met with the distinct and distressing feeling of having actually… _forgotten_ something. He looked _vaguely familiar—_ the very concept of the phrase alien to her—but she knew she had never met him once in her life. And while her first instinct had indeed been to log into the nearest computer terminal and look him up, something held her back. It would be too easy. The sense of personal challenge made it almost a game to her.

She would never dream of approaching an assignment this way—it was reckless and dangerous, to say the very least. She had known more than one assassin over the years to fall prey to just this combination of curiosity and pride. But this man wasn't her target, just a bystander who'd caught her attention. She would let him continue to believe she hadn't noticed him, and see what clues he dropped. If she hadn't figured him out by the time her mission was complete, she told herself, she would look him up in the computer before leaving Mindoir.

And if he got in her way, she would eliminate him. No harm done. Game over.

But the night before the ceremony, he ended the game for her.


	6. Lady So Divine

_Chapter 5: Lady So Divine_

Shepard's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. "With the Compact? Are you sure?"

"Not entirely," Kolyat admitted with a shrug, "but it fits all the available evidence. And she _is_ tracking someone, that I am sure of. I just don't know who."

"Kolyat…" Leaning her hip against the piano, Shepard narrowed her eyes and folded her arms, her voice darkening with suspicion. "How, _exactly,_ do you know that?"

He tucked his hands behind his back to keep from fidgeting under her stare. "I've been… keeping an eye on her," he said evasively. Goddess of oceans, she could make him feel like such a child sometimes. "It's my job to protect this community," he added, almost wincing at the note of defensiveness in his voice.

"Right," Shepard drawled. "You're totally going through proper channels, opening a real investigation. Because Captain McGann, who won't even put you on the Victory Day detail, absolutely gave you sole responsibility for tracking a _Compact assassin."_

Her sarcasm stung. "That's not fair. You know why I can't do that."

"Oh, I do?" Shepard snapped. "Enlighten me, Kolyat. Please."

Kolyat raked a hand over his crest. "Come on, Shepard, do I really have to explain this to you?" He sighed. "This assassin is going to get to her target, one way or another, and she will eliminate anyone who tries to stop her. If I bring this to McGann, it'll only get good cops killed."

"So you're just going to get yourself killed, instead?" Shepard shot back. "What makes you think _you_ can stop her?"

Forcing himself to look her in the eye, Kolyat replied, "I'm not going to stop her. I'm going to help her."

The words tasted bitter on his tongue. Never before had he so brazenly lied to her.

He had a fairly good idea who Selle Nuara was tracking. Why the Illuminated Primacy would want Shepard dead, of all people, was beyond him, but he would _not_ allow that to happen. Shepard was his _vo'triha,_ his guardian angel. She'd given him everything. It was the least he could do to return the favor. He had, however, told the truth about why he wasn't getting the police department involved—none of them were anywhere near equipped to handle someone with Nuara's training and experience.

In all honesty, he wasn't, either. But at least he knew what to expect.

Shepard blinked at him in shock. _"What?"_

He studied her carefully for a moment, searching for any indication that she didn't believe him. Emboldened when he found none, he said, "Look, the hanar don't send assassins after just anyone. Whoever her target is, they see them as a direct threat to the Illuminated Primacy. And if they're here on Mindoir, probably the galaxy as a whole." Which was true enough, but again, why Shepard? She had become something of a recluse in her retirement. Far from posing a threat to anyone, she barely ever left the house, ignoring her therapist's advice to get out and socialize, preferring instead the company of music and memories. She was an icon, though, a symbol of freedom and victory to the galaxy, her name celebrated on every civilized world. But what could be so dangerous about that?

Casting about for something, anything to make his lie plausible, Kolyat blurted out the first idea that sprang to mind. "It might even be that Cerberus cell that's rumored to be here!"

Shepard's jaw dropped. "My God, Kolyat, is that what this is about?" she demanded. "The task force?"

It was as good an excuse as any, and he seized upon it immediately. "Yes," he said firmly, "yes, it is. You said yourself I'd get my chance. Well, here it is!"

"Damn it, Kolyat, _this_ is not what I meant!" Shepard limped toward him, leaning heavily on her cane, her hand trembling, eyes flashing as she glared at him. "What the hell is your hurry? You're young—you have all the time in the world!" Her voice broke, and Kolyat was a little shocked to see tears welling up in her eyes. "Please… don't do this, Kolyat. I… I can't lose you, too."

It was almost more than he could bear, seeing her like that. Her half-whispered plea brought him within a heartbeat of breaking down and confessing right then and there. But that wouldn't do her any good, he was certain of it. So without another word, he snatched up his jacket, turned on his heel, and strode from the house into the street.

He _would_ protect her. No matter the cost to himself.

* * *

She'd almost had to laugh.

The irony had nearly been too much. Her mystery drell stalker lived in the very house she was casing! Apparently, that information had not been deemed relevant enough to merit inclusion in her dossiers. Valka shook her head as she watched him leave, wondering once again if the omission was due to oversight or faith. Her handler would never insult her by insinuating that a rookie cop could pose an actual threat, of course, but this was still mission-critical information. Much as she respected Orander—after all, it had been her handler for nearly thirty years—this would have to be reported when she returned to the fleet. The thought saddened her.

But now was not the time to dwell on such things. She kept her focus on the other drell, ready to spring if necessary. But if all went well, there would be no collateral damage on this mission. When she struck, it would be precise, surgical. As always.

But Amonkira Himself must have been whispering in his ear, for he found her almost instantly. Oh, he couldn't have made out any details, just a shadow amongst shadows, but a combination of rudimentary training and what had to be exceptionally sharp instinct drew his gaze right to her. He tried to act nonchalant, just out for a stroll in the cool evening air, but as soon as he thought she couldn't see him, he ducked into a shadowy corner of his own.

It was too funny.

Unless… perhaps she'd underestimated him. She froze for an instant, reevaluating. That could be a fatal mistake. What if he knew she could see him… and was attempting to draw her out?

A memory swept over her then, a ghost of decades past.

 _My opponent is a year younger than me and easily ten centimeters shorter. I've not met him before, but I dislike him instantly. We are trainees, and young ones at that. He cannot possibly have earned the confidence with which he carries himself, nor the arrogance in his gaze as he studies me._

 _I, however, have been enlisted by our instructor as part of his lesson. This match, Sere Xiphas has informed me, is to teach my opponent how to react when outmatched. "Do not hold back," he says. I do not intend to._

 _My opponent and I enter the ring, and Sere Xiphas signals us to begin. We circle each other for a moment, then he lunges at me. I dodge, sweeping his feet from beneath him. He turns his fall into a roll and jumps back up, closing the distance between us in an instant and_ grinning _like the upstart child he is. I aim a blow at his face, trying to stun him to gain some space. He ducks—_

— _and in the next heartbeat, I'm flat on my back, the flash of biotic blue fading from my eyes, and he's pinned me down with a knee on my chest. He has my head in his hands. If this was a real fight, I'd be dead._

" _The lesson here is yours," Sere Xiphas tells me sternly. "Never underestimate your opponent. Regardless of the intelligence you have gathered, you cannot gauge his skills until you meet him in battle."_

Valka considered Sere Xiphas's words carefully as they echoed in her mind, her playful curiosity morphing into seething anger. _Very well, young Sere Policeman,_ she thought. _Two can play at this._

She shifted position slightly, as if to get a better view of the house she was supposed to be watching. Just enough to let the moonlight fall full on her face. _I know you see me, boy. Your move._

* * *

The third time Selle Nuara's eyes— _eye_ , Kolyat corrected himself: since she'd shifted into the light, he could see now she wore a patch over the other—slid over his hiding spot, he finally realized she was toying with him. She knew he was there. Knew he was watching her.

So before he could think about it too much, he decided to call her bluff. Emerging from the shadows, he approached her directly, fighting to keep his steps from faltering as her eye narrowed and her body fell into a combat-ready stance. "Valka Nuara?" he said, letting enough sarcasm color the words to show her he knew the name was false. To maintain control of the situation.

But before he could react, Nuara had grabbed him, spun him around, and pressed the edge of a dagger into his neck. "Your face is familiar," she hissed in his ear, "but I do not know you. Why are you following me?"

Kolyat swallowed hard, his confidence evaporating, his heart pounding as he took in his situation. He was well and truly pinned, his dominant hand locked behind his back, his sidearm trapped against his assailant's body, and the blade a twitch away from opening an artery. Assassin, indeed. How could he have been so stupid? "M-my name's Kolyat," he stammered. Mentally cursing himself for sounding like such a child, he cleared his throat and tried to force some authority into his voice. "Corporal Kolyat Krios, AHPD. Who are you?"

" _Krios?"_ The blade fell away, and she released him with a shove, chuckling darkly. "Arashu preserve me, another one."

Kolyat rubbed at his throat where the dagger had dug into the pleated skin. He could still feel the cold sharpness of it—the same cold sharpness he heard in her voice. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, nerves making his voice hoarse.

"What do you think it means, boy? I know your clan name." Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "Of course. You're Thane's son," she deduced, and snorted as she finally sheathed her dagger. "Not that I would ever have guessed, the way you let yourself be caught so entirely unawares. By your own mark, no less. He would be disappointed."

Anger flared hot and bright behind Kolyat's eyes, and he sneered at her. "I should run you in for assaulting an officer," he growled.

But Nuara simply stared at him haughtily. "I should like to see you try." She shook her head in disbelief. "And here I was worried I had misjudged you. But my question still stands: _why are you following me?"_

"Why are _you_ after Shepard?" Kolyat shot back.

Nuara blinked at him in surprise, then laughed mockingly. "Shepard? You think Admiral Shepard is my target? You know nothing, boy. Do not presume to guess."

A wave of relief crashed over him, leaving him dizzy. _Arashu be praised, she's safe._ But in the next moment, his blood froze in his veins. "Then… what are you doing here? Staking out our home?"

Nuara only laughed harder. "You think I'm after _you?_ Tell me, why would the Illuminated Primacy send _me_ after a small-town cop on a backwater colony in the middle of nowhere? Your arrogance knows no bounds!" She shook her head again. "You are your father's son. No, there are much larger concerns at play here."

"Larger concerns—like Cerberus?" Wouldn't that just be the height of irony, Kolyat thought, if his lie turned out to be the truth after all?

But at his words, Nuara immediately stopped laughing and fixed him with a piercing stare. "What do you know?"

"Nothing," Kolyat shot back, folding his arms defiantly. "I wouldn't presume to guess."

Hissing in frustration, Nuara bared her teeth and stepped forward to growl in his face. "If you care for Shepard at all, boy, you'll not hinder me. Now, tell me: _what do you know about Cerberus?"_


	7. The Crow and the Butterfly

_Chapter 6: The Crow and the Butterfly_

 _Oh Gods, it's true. Cerberus_ is _here._

Kolyat froze, all of his defiance withering under the assassin's glare even as his mind raced. If there really was a Cerberus presence on Mindoir, the whole colony could be in danger. But what could they want? There was only one possible target, only one thing on Mindoir of galactic importance: Shepard. Nuara may not be the threat, but Shepard was still in danger. The thought sent a fresh surge of ice rushing through Kolyat's veins.

But even so, it was all speculation. There was no proof. He held up his hands and took a step back. "I… nothing," he stammered. "There were rumors—nothing conclusive. I'm not even—"

With a frustrated snarl, Nuara seized the front of his shirt and yanked him down to her eye level, so close their noses nearly touched, her breath hot against his face. The patch over her right eye somehow intensified the glare from her left as she seemed to search his very soul for any sign of falsehood. Kolyat swallowed hard, and it took all the discipline at his command not to struggle against her viselike grip.

Finally, grudgingly satisfied, she released him and began to pace back and forth, frowning as she fought some internal battle. Kolyat took the opportunity to study her as he watched.

Father had once told him how he'd initially taken Mother for the Goddess Arashu. Well, this woman could be Kalahira incarnate. Clad in black leather that clung to her hard-muscled body like a second skin and a sleeveless jacket that flowed loosely down her back, she moved with the deadly grace of a jungle predator. Her scales were a rich green-gold that was almost iridescent in the moonlight, and her eye was the dark midnight blue of the deepest oceans. She was at once striking and intimidating, her features delicate yet hardened in anger, marred only by the patch over her eye and the deep, puckered scar that extended beneath it to slash across her cheek. And though she stood several centimeters shorter than Kolyat, her presence loomed large.

Nuara stopped pacing and stared up at Kolyat again. "What is your relationship with Admiral Shepard?" she demanded abruptly.

The question caught Kolyat off guard. "She's my… my friend," he said. That was all Nuara needed to know.

But she eyed him critically, and saw right through him. "The truth now, boy."

Kolyat sighed. "She's… my father loved her," he admitted reluctantly. "I met her through him. And then after the war, with her injuries, she needed help. Her crew couldn't stay, so she had no one else. And… well, neither did I. We've grown close."

Nuara looked as if she wanted to say something, but then thought better of it. "How close?" she asked instead. "Does she trust you?"

"Of course she does!" Kolyat snapped, perhaps irrationally offended that she would ask. "Why?"

"Because if she's going to live through tomorrow, you'll both need to do exactly as I say."

* * *

It was definitely an evening for Bach.

There was something very Zen about the Prelude No. 1 in C Major, something about the motion of the gently flowing arpeggios that usually allowed Shepard to let herself float away from the worries that nagged at her. But that was always followed by the inevitable crash back to reality when the piece ended and the final chord faded, taking the shining moment of carefree bliss with it. So with a little creative arranging, she worked it into a loop she could play over and over again, without stopping.

 _Ritardando. Da capo. A tempo._

She'd been playing it for hours.

It wasn't working.

No matter how hard she tried to lose herself in the music, her mind still spun with anxiety and self-loathing. Not long ago, rumors of a Cerberus presence would have brought her to the front lines, taking charge of the investigation and flushing them out. An assassin with an unknown agenda would have found herself staring down the wrong end of Shepard's scope. She had always tackled threats head-on, had laughed in the face of danger, had spit in the eye of Death time and again and returned to tell the tale. She was _Commander fucking Shepard,_ damn it.

Well, she had been, once. But now? Kolyat was out there risking his life on some half-baked crusade, while she buried her head in the sand and tried to drown the guilt in music. She should be out there with him, hunting this bitch down and demanding answers.

 _Right, because you're in great shape to be chasing after a Compact assassin._

Shepard scowled at her cane where it leaned within easy reach against the piano bench. Sure, Dr. Trivino said she didn't need it anymore, but the thought of going without it made her stomach lurch.

 _Ritardando. Da capo. A tempo._

It was getting late. She had a speech to give at the Victory Day ceremony in the morning, people to greet, cameras to smile at, probably autographs to sign. It was exhausting just thinking about it. But she knew what would happen if she tried to go to sleep now. Even wide awake, the nightmares taunted her: the knock at the door, the solemn look on Kelsey McGann's face, the tremor in her voice. _He died in the line of duty,_ she would say.

Except that wouldn't be true, would it? The police knew nothing about this assassin. Kolyat was acting entirely on his own, without backup, without support. And if he meant what he'd said about helping this assassin, if it really was a Cerberus operative she was after, he was acting not as a cop but as a vigilante. That role had suited Garrus on Omega, but this was Mindoir, and Kolyat wasn't—

Actually, Kolyat was a lot like Garrus, wasn't he? He had that same dangerous combination of stubborn independence, idealism, and youthful enthusiasm. He chafed just the same under paperwork and procedure. Hell, he was even in the same profession Garrus had started out in.

 _Ritardando. Da capo. A tempo._

She should stop him. But what would she do, drag him home like a wayward child? Like it or not, Kolyat was a grown man, capable of making his own bad decisions.

No, that was stupid. Shepard still felt responsible for him; more than that, she cared about him. She couldn't let him go and get himself killed on some—

Shepard realized she'd closed her eyes when the sound of someone clearing their throat jolted her out of her thoughts. She looked up to see Kolyat _(alive and unharmed, oh thank God)_ , and beside him, a female drell whose posture and expression reminded her so much of Thane she did a double take. Her mouth went dry. Gripping her cane tightly, she pushed herself to her feet to greet them, but she couldn't form the words.

"Shepard," said Kolyat stiffly, "I'd like you to meet Selle Valka Nuara."

Nuara inclined her head in a small bow. "Admiral. It is an honor to meet you in person." Her voice was like water over smooth pebbles, rippling and clear.

So this was the woman Kolyat was after. Waving off her deference, Shepard replied, "Please, Selle Nuara, I'm retired. It's just Shepard."

"Very well, Shepard. You may call me Valka." She straightened and clasped her hands behind her back. "May we sit? There is much we need to discuss."

"Of course." Shepard gestured for the two drell to go ahead and followed them into the living room, taking a seat beside Kolyat on the couch. Nuara settled on the armchair, but perched on the front edge. She leaned her elbows on her knees and pressed steepled fingers to her lips, evidently contemplating her next words. Shepard gave her a few moments to gather her thoughts.

Finally, she said, "I trust Kolyat has shared with you his suspicions about my purpose here on Mindoir."

Shepard nodded. "He has."

"He is correct on all accounts. I am an assassin in service to the Compact, on a mission to eliminate a Cerberus operative. The Illuminated Primacy has reason to believe she will make an attempt on your life at the Victory Day ceremony tomorrow."

Shepard raised her eyebrows. "Oh, really?" she demanded. "You've been on Mindoir for days. It would have taken even longer for you to get here from the hanar fleet." She leaned forward, glaring at Nuara in the way that used to send her crew running. "Tell me: _why_ am I only hearing about this now? And what is the Primacy's interest in it?"

"You are a hero to all the peoples of the galaxy, Shepard," Nuara replied evasively, not meeting her eyes. "Losing you would be a blow to us all." Her tone becoming defensive, she added, "Ideally, you would have known nothing about it at all, had your… friend"—she gestured to Kolyat—"not interfered."

Kolyat scoffed and shook his head. "I'm not buying this, Shepard." To Nuara, he said, "If that's true, then what have you been doing lurking around our house?"

Nuara gritted her teeth. "Must I explain myself to you? You both know as well as I how crafty Cerberus can be. There is always the chance that they leaked false information deliberately. I am here to protect you, Shepard. If this operative were to take you out while I was chasing shadows… well. I'll not fail you in such a way. I must prepare for all eventualities."

"I see." Shepard studied her carefully. "Okay, for the sake of argument, let's say I believe you. But that still begs the question: Cerberus is a human organization. With the Illusive Man dead, it's effectively beheaded; mopping them up is the Alliance's problem. And yet it seems the Primacy knows more about this than the Alliance even suspects. How is that possible?"

With a sigh, Nuara shook her head. "You don't know your own mythology, do you?" she ground out. "Do you know where the name 'Cerberus' comes from?"

Shepard frowned. "In ancient Greek myth, the giant dog that guarded the gates of Hades. The Illusive Man created the Cerberus organization to be humanity's 'guard dog.'"

"Ah, but the creature of legend had another notable feature," said Nuara. "He had _three heads."_

 _Three heads._ "Oh… oh, God." Shepard turned wide eyes to Kolyat, and saw the same horrified understanding there. "So there are two more out there, still. Two more Illusive Men."

"It's not quite as bad as that," Nuara replied. "You might say Jack Harper, who you call the Illusive Man, was the center head, the ultimate authority over the other two. Henry Lawson was another. Only one remains, though his identity is still a mystery."

Shepard folded her arms. "All right. But I ask again: what interest do the hanar have in all this?"

Nuara looked down to study her hands, clasped between her knees. "With the mass relays still inoperative, most of the fleets are still stranded in Alliance space. Resources are scarce, and tensions are high. It is suspected that Cerberus may be attempting to spark another war. To that end, the operative I am tracking has stolen a weapon from the hanar fleet—a bomb whose design, if discovered, would implicate the Primacy in your death."

The thought of all the allied races erupting into all-out war in her name made Shepard's stomach turn. "Why should I believe you?" she tried to demand, but her voice came out as little more than a croak. She cleared her throat. "Who are you, really?"

Nuara blinked at her in confusion. "I have already told you who I am."

"No, you told me _what_ you are, what you do," said Shepard. "But if I'm going to trust you with my life, I need you to trust me with something, too."

"And that is?"

Shepard met her gaze levelly. "Your name."

Nuara's eye widened. "You know my—"

"I know your alias," Shepard interrupted. "But I will know precisely who I'm dealing with, or I'll take my chances on my own, and thanks for the heads-up."

Nuara bowed her head, bringing her fingers to her lips again as she weighed her options. Finally, she sighed and closed her eye. "Spathi," she said softly. "My name is Nemia Spathi."


	8. Shed Some Light

_Chapter 7: Shed Some Light_

Kolyat's brow ridge shot up in surprise as he finally made the connection. "You're Nemia Spathi?" he demanded. He shook his head once. "Of course, I should've guessed. Father told me all about you."

Spathi froze, schooling her features carefully to hide some unidentifiable emotion. "Not _all_ about me, I hope." Yet, despite the deliberate sarcasm in her voice, there was a distinct undercurrent of… something.

"Well, no," Kolyat admitted. "I know there were things he left out. But… he did say he admired you." He hoped that by offering this little bit of honesty, she might feel compelled to tell him more.

And it seemed to work. "Oh, he did, did he?" Spathi chuckled darkly. "The Thane Krios I knew admired no one but himself." Before Kolyat or Shepard could protest in outrage, she held up a placating hand, her expression softening slightly. "Which is not to say he didn't change. When I saw him last, some seventeen years ago, he was already beginning to. Irikah was a good influence on him." Letting her hand fall, she bowed her head, hesitating for a moment before adding, "And I must beg your forgiveness, Kolyat, for any… strife I may have caused between them."

Whatever he had expected she might say… that wasn't it. Blinking in sudden confusion, Kolyat struggled for words. "What…" A sick sensation churned in the pit of his stomach. He had no idea what kind of "strife" she was referring to, but he could guess. And he didn't like the implications. "What are you talking about?"

Spathi looked back up at Kolyat, her eye widening in surprise and what might have been relief. "You mean he didn't... of course he didn't. His pride would never allow it. Perhaps he didn't change as much as I thought." She shook her head dismissively. "And you were a child, not even Awakened yet—you wouldn't remember. Pay it no mind."

Anger flared bright and hot behind Kolyat's eyes. "Oh, no, you don't," he growled, his hands balling into fists. "You can't say something like that and expect me to just ignore it!"

"I can, and I do." The look on Spathi's face could only be described as patronizing as she slipped her mask of professionalism back into place. "Perhaps I'll explain another time. We have more important matters to attend to."

"But—"

Now it was Shepard who stopped him, with a hand on his arm. "Kolyat, she has a point," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Now isn't the time."

Kolyat took a breath to protest further—then blew it out and sagged. She was right, of course. But the same furious curiosity burned in her eyes, and Kolyat knew she wouldn't let Spathi off the hook for long.

They would have their answers before this was over. One way or another.

* * *

"Feron! By the Goddess, it's good to hear your voice again!"

Though the connection was audio-only, Liara could hear the smile in her most trusted operative's voice as he replied, _"You too, Liara. When the Reapers dropped dead all the way out here, I admit I feared the worst for anyone at ground zero. Knowing you were there, in the middle of it all… I'm just glad to find you on this side of the sea. I'd heard rumors that the Shadow Broker was alive, of course, but news from Alliance space is scarce in the Terminus Systems."_

"Well, I hope you didn't mourn me too long," Liara said with a chuckle. "But I'm glad to see you've been following my last instructions. We're close to having galactic communications back on-line."

" _That's excellent news. It's lucky you had the forethought to instruct all of us to work on it before the net went down."_

Liara shrugged, even though she knew he couldn't see her. "Well, between the Reapers destroying the all the comm buoys in their path and the amount of energy the Crucible was going to unleash, I thought we should be prepared in case we were cut off."

" _I didn't expect we'd lose the mass relays, though. It's put a major kink in our operations. How's everyone holding up?"_

"It's tense," Liara admitted. "The turian and quarian fleets left for Palaven just a few days after the battle, so that relieved some of the pressure on resources, but without the Migrant Fleet, nobody else can go far. The Systems Alliance has officially been very accommodating, but there's still only so much to go around, especially with most of Earth still in ruins. There's a lot of unrest. I spend most of my days putting out fires."

" _Officially, huh?"_

"Pardon?"

" _You said the Alliance has 'officially' been very accommodating."_

"Oh. Yes." She grimaced and shook her head. "There are almost daily reports of colonists pushing back against the influx of non-humans looking for a world to settle on. No major violence yet, but I'm afraid it's only a matter of time."

Feron hummed thoughtfully. _"You know, there's a fair number of refugees floating around Terminus, too, looking for places to land. But I haven't heard about anything like the kind of xenophobia you're talking about. That could be stemming from the issue of resources, though, like you said. Things aren't quite so tight here."_ He didn't sound entirely convinced.

If she was honest with herself, Liara wasn't, either. "It could," she hedged, "but my instincts tell me there's something more going on. I'm going to see what I can dig up."

" _Good luck, Liara. If there's anything I can do…"_

"I'll let you know."

The line went dead, and Liara just sat there for a moment, breathing more easily than she had in a long time. Hearing from Feron lifted a weight from her chest that she'd gotten so used to, she'd stopped noticing it until it was gone. How she'd worried about him! Learning he was alive and well left her giddy with renewed hope.

But before long, the chime of another incoming call broke through her reverie. There truly was no rest for the Shadow Broker—and she wouldn't have it any other way.

This call had video as well as audio feeds, and Liara's smile broadened as the screen lit up with a familiar face. "Hello, Shepard."

" _Hey, Liara. How's everything?"_

Liara chuckled. "That's quite the loaded question, given whom you're asking."

Shepard's answering smile was wan and didn't quite reach her eyes. _"Well, I_ was _just asking about you. But I'll take an update on the state of the galaxy, if you're offering."_

"I'm well, thank you. Tired, perhaps," she admitted. "I've had to rebuild the Shadow Broker's network almost from scratch, but our work on reestablishing galactic communications is progressing even faster than I'd hoped. And I've just heard from Feron."

" _That's great! Tell him I said hello,"_ Shepard replied with more genuine enthusiasm. But then her expression grew serious. _"This isn't really a social call, though."_

It was not lost on Liara how deftly Shepard had just avoided any inquiries into her own well-being, but she didn't push the issue. "Of course. What can I do for you, Shepard?"

" _I need you to look into a few things for me."_ Shepard's lips thinned into a tight line. _"There have been rumors that a Cerberus cell, or at least an operative, may be up to something here on Mindoir."_

Liara nodded. "I'm aware of the rumors, but I've as yet been unable to corroborate them." She frowned, her heart racing as she guessed the purpose of Shepard's call. "Do you think there's something to them?"

" _I do."_

The tone of her voice… it brought back memories of their days on the _Normandy._ It was the tone that never failed to send chills down her spine, the one full of steel and eezo and implacable determination. The tone she hadn't heard since the war ended. "Shepard… are you in danger?"

" _Yes. But exactly how immediate, I'm not sure."_

Liara's hands stilled over her keyboard as she stared at her friend's drawn and weary face. The old, familiar spark was beginning to flicker back to life in her emerald eyes, and welcome sight though it was, Liara feared the implications. "What do you mean?"

There was a moment's uncertain silence. _"Just… look into this Cerberus thing for me,"_ said Shepard finally. _"I have reason to believe there may be more organization remaining than we thought. A new leader. I want to know everything you can find on him. And see if you can find any connection to the hanar—they're either involved, or they're a target."_ She glanced back over her shoulder, as if to ensure she wasn't being overheard, and lowered her voice. _"And while you're at it… send me anything you have on a drell assassin named Nemia Spathi. Known alias Valka Nuara. I want everything the Illuminated Primacy knows about this, too."_

"Shepard…" Liara shook her head in a vain attempt to quell the sudden dizziness that had set the room spinning. "What is going on?"

Her answer was a bitter snort. _"God, I wish I knew for sure. Just send me any intel you've got. Make sure Kolyat gets a copy, too. And do it quickly—the shit could start hitting the fan in as little as eight hours."_

"I'm transmitting the data now." After a moment's thought, she added, "And I'm sending the decryption key to Kolyat's omni-tool. It'll auto-delete as soon as he reads it."

" _Good thinking."_ Shepard nodded her appreciation, though her face remained grim. _"Thanks, Liara. I knew I could always count on you."_

"Of course. Let me know if you need anything else." Liara met her gaze as steadily as she could. "And, Shepard… be careful."

* * *

Nemia had little doubt as to the true purpose of Shepard's sudden and urgent need to "make a call." Surely she maintained numerous contacts, even in retirement. People like Shepard always kept a finger on the galaxy's pulse; it was in their nature. What intel she could gather, though, depended on just how well connected she had chosen to remain.

Of course, saving civilization in general from extinction had certainly earned Shepard a lot of friends in very high places: Councilors, ambassadors, generals, Primarchs, matriarchs, and dalatrasses all owed her their lives and their people. Her underworld connections, too, had once been extensive. Rumor had it she even had a direct line to the Shadow broker himself—a powerful ally indeed. _Or a dangerous enemy._

No, Nemia had no illusions whatsoever: Shepard was checking up on her.

Her conclusion was confirmed when Kolyat's omni-tool pinged and, reading what appeared to be multiple messages, his expression flickered from confusion to surprise to understanding before shutting down completely. Nemia chuckled softly and shook her head.

"What's so funny?" Kolyat snapped, eyes narrowing.

"You, boy. I can read you like a book." With some effort, she reined in her laughter, but couldn't entirely suppress a lingering smirk. "One way you are certainly not like your father: he could be utterly inscrutable when he wanted to be."

Kolyat quirked his brow ridge at her, suddenly looking very much like Thane indeed—until he folded his arms petulantly. "Who says I want to be?"

"The files you just received," she said, keeping her tone carefully nonchalant. "Information on me and my mission, no doubt, I presume forwarded to you by Admiral Shepard from whichever contact she's speaking to right now. Go ahead, read it. It will say nothing to contradict what I've already told you." She shrugged, leaning back in the chair and crossing her legs, adopting a posture that was not nearly as relaxed as it looked. Though she was all but certain she was in no danger from him or Shepard, the threat from Cerberus still existed, and it behooved her to remain vigilant. But pacing the floor looking nervous would do no one any good. "I will wait."

Keeping a suspicious eye on her—good, there was hope for the boy yet—Kolyat reopened his omni-tool and scrolled through the files he'd received. Finally, he huffed in annoyance. "Well, you're right, nothing here contradicts anything you've said." His lip curled in a frustrated grimace. "But there's not much to confirm it, either."

Nemia shrugged. "Nevertheless, you must make a decision." She looked up at Shepard as she limped back into the room. "What say you?"

Shepard and Kolyat stared at each other for a long, silent moment, some kind of wordless communication passing between them. Clearly, they had grown very close, indeed. Nemia swallowed hard around the sudden twinge in her chest, and forcibly quashed the unwelcome surge of emotion before she could identify it.

Finally, though her gaze remained trained on Kolyat, Shepard said softly, "We'll trust you." Then she did turn, and her eyes locked onto Nemia's with laser-like intensity. "And if you betray that trust… may Kalahira have mercy on your soul."


	9. Attention Attention

_Chapter 8: Attention Attention_

Shepard carried herself differently when she was in uniform.

Though he didn't dare say so, Kolyat thought she looked more like herself in her full dress blues, her hair twisted up in a neat bun, white gloves demurely hiding her raggedly bitten fingernails, crisply pressed trousers falling in perfect, straight lines over her prosthetic leg as though it were as real as the other. She stood straighter, too, and leaned less heavily on her cane. She walked more steadily, her limp suddenly far less pronounced. She was Commander Shepard again, even if the stars on her epaulets proclaimed her Rear Admiral.

The cascade of medals spilling over her left breast told the shimmering tale of her storied career. She didn't like to talk about them, so Kolyat had looked them up once. It was a truly impressive array of the galaxy's highest honors. A Galactic Unit Citation for the _Normandy_ 's crew. A Star of Terra, the highest honor the Systems Alliance could bestow, the "V" device on the ribbon marking her as one of the exceedingly elite few to have been awarded the medal twice. An Alliance Navy Cross with two gold stars. The Citadel Defense Medal, also awarded twice. An Order of Parnitha from the asari, a Silver Dagger from the salarians, and a Nova Cluster from the turians. Plus a dozen other medals, ribbons, and badges for everything from marksmanship training to wounds sustained in combat to general recognition of her distinguished service. "I'm jingling like a change purse," she'd complained as she dressed, but Kolyat thought she looked, as she so rarely did anymore, every inch the hero she was.

But no matter how it soothed his soul to see her like this, now was not the time to stop and admire her. He had a job to do.

" _I'm in position, Krios,"_ Spathi's voice hissed over the radio in his ear. _"Do you have eyes on Shepard?"_

"Affirmative," he replied softly. "No suspicious movements from anyone yet. Scanning the area now." As Shepard stepped up to the podium, he opened his omni-tool, pretending to be taking vid footage of the ceremony as he scanned for the particular signature Spathi had told him to look for. "I'm picking up a signal, but it's faint. Trying to pin it down."

" _Hurry. You need to find the bomb and disarm it before it goes off."_

Kolyat resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No, it'll be easier to disarm it after it goes off," he snapped. "I'm neither a child nor an idiot, you know."

Spathi only snorted in response.

Despite his sarcasm, Kolyat's heart pounded. If it had been up to him, they'd have just called in an anonymous tip and gotten the entire ceremony postponed. Or maybe not so anonymous—now that he knew what was going on, they could have gone straight to Captain McGann with Spathi's intel and gotten a real investigation started. But Spathi had insisted that doing so would only make the assassin go to ground, and they'd never find him. She had a plan, she'd said, to not only eliminate the single operative who was after Shepard, but to take out the entire cell.

And that plan hinged entirely upon Kolyat locating a bomb before it killed Shepard—and neutralizing it before it killed him.

Spathi had provided him with detailed schematics and instructions, but he was no bomb tech. He had tried to argue with her—she should be the one to defuse it; after all, she was the one familiar with the technology. But she had refused. Her part in this would be to hide out in a dark little nook she'd located above the amphitheater, and try to locate the bomber. She would shoot not to kill, but only to stop him so he could be captured and interrogated. Kolyat just didn't have the sniper skills for that.

"Besides," Spathi had said in a tone that was more than a little patronizing, "if you do this, you're the hero who saved Admiral Shepard's life. If I do it, you and your department look like idiots who couldn't keep her safe."

The memory made his jaw clench and his lip curl into a sneer. That Spathi could think he would put his own reputation over Shepard's life was insulting.

But she did have a point.

Of course, he didn't really have the tech skills for this, either. The plan was flimsy and dangerous—Shepard had called it "sketchy" when Spathi was out of earshot—but they had chosen to trust her. After all, she knew what she was doing. Nearly four decades of Compact training and experience had to count for something.

Right?

Kolyat shook his head as he wended his way through the crowd toward the stage. It seemed like every colonist on Mindoir was here, and he had to look casual if he was going to avoid starting a panic. Shepard had begun her speech, squinting a little under the lights of the half-dozen camera drones swarming around her as the reporters below jockeyed for position.

" _I don't have a target. Do you have a fix on the bomb yet?"_ Spathi's words were clipped, impatient.

"Negative. Still tracing the signature." He pushed closer, ignoring the indignant protests of those around him. The bomb was definitely above the stage—in the podium, maybe? No, that was little more than a glorified music stand; there was no place to hide anything. Kolyat gritted his teeth. The Depths take it, where was it?

" _You need to find it_ now, _Krios!"_

He shoved his way closer still, right up to the cordoned-off area occupied by the press corps. The readings were clearer now—and he suddenly realized why he'd had such trouble pinning them down. They were moving! Just a little bit, but enough to throw him off. A bobbing, shifting motion, as if from foot to foot.

Kolyat felt momentarily sick. _A suicide bomber!_ It had to be. But who? One of the municipal officials who hovered solicitously behind Shepard as she spoke? Some aide in the wings, waiting for her to finish? Or perhaps the bomber had somehow planted it on Shepard herself!

No, no, the angle was wrong. It wasn't on a person. It was higher than that, and closer to the audience. Floating about six or seven feet off the—

Kolyat swore. "Spathi, the cameras! It's in one of the drones!"

" _Took you long enough,"_ she snarled back. _"There isn't time to disarm it now. You need to hack the drone's systems and get it away from Shepard!"_

"Hack the—fuck me," he muttered under his breath. All the little human idioms he had such trouble comprehending, yet he was picking up their profanity with ease. _Mother would be so proud._

But it summed up the situation handily enough. He hadn't even pinned down which drone it was yet. And then to hack into its onboard computer? He could do it, but it would take him twice as long as someone with more experience.

The first problem was easily solved. He tapped the nearest reporter on the shoulder, and flashed his badge when she turned around. "Police," he said, just loud enough for the other four to hear as well. "Shut down your cameras."

"The hell I will," the reporter shot back. "I know my rights. I _refuse_ to _—"_

"Now!" Kolyat growled.

The reporter opened her mouth to protest further, but something in his face must have convinced her. She nodded to the others, and five drones returned to their owners. One remained, hovering directly in front of Shepard's face. The gathered reporters exchanged questioning glances, none willing to claim ownership of the rogue camera.

Shepard, patched into their comms, stopped speaking and backed away from the podium, eyes wide. The drone followed her as the crowd finally caught on that something was amiss and began to murmur in alarm.

" _Krios, take down that drone!"_ Spathi barked.

Kolyat hissed in frustration. "I'm trying! It's not responding!" The bomber had messed with the camera's programming, locking it into a set distance from Shepard, and Kolyat couldn't get in to override it. It didn't make sense! The code in these things was so simple, even he should have been able to remote into it. But nothing he did seemed to affect it. It was like he was speaking the wrong language. He was rapidly running out of ideas.

" _Krios!"_

Another error message flashed across his omni-tool's screen. "I can't do it!"

Spathi growled a vile Rakhanian curse. _"Shepard, get_ down!"

Without hesitation, Shepard dropped.

And the drone exploded.

Pandemonium. The crowd, already agitated, transformed in an instant from a nervously shuffling herd to a stampede of panicked people, running, pushing, screaming, shoving. Kolyat struggled to remain on his feet as he tried to reach Shepard. He could hear Spathi trying to raise her on the radio, but there was no response.

 _She's not dead. Please, sweet Arashu, tell me she's not dead._

Emergency medical personnel, stationed nearby as a matter of routine for events like this, were already on the stage. Pushing against the frightened throng, Kolyat could only watch as they bandaged the worst of her wounds, lifted her onto a stretcher, and carried her away.

As the ambulance streaked by overhead, lights flashing and sirens blaring, he turned to run with the crowd. The medics would take her to the hospital in Caer Sidi, the one that had the new burn unit. If he could just get to his skycar, he could meet her there.

But an iron grip on his shoulder jerked him to a stop just outside the gate. Spathi spun him around and snarled in his face. "You're as useless with technology as your father was, boy," she spat. "You've blown my whole operation to the Depths!"

Kolyat bared his teeth. He didn't have time to be waylaid and berated like this. He'd had it with her condescension and her sarcasm. "Well, then I guess you're gonna need a new plan," he snapped, pulling free of her grasp. "But you can count me out of it. I'll go after this bastard myself." He made the decision as he spoke. As soon as he confirmed that Shepard was all right ( _or not_ , whispered a small voice in the back of his head, studiously ignored), he would track down the bomber and make him pay for what he'd done. And he didn't need the help of this relic from his father's past to do it, either.

Spathi laughed mockingly. "Oh, you will, will you? If you think you can do my job better than I can, you are welcome to try." Her face darkened. "But I warn you: do not get in my way. I _will_ cut you down if I have to." Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and strode away.

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Kolyat shot back. He didn't really expect a response. The words were little more than bitter reflex, leaping from his mouth before he could think better of them and hanging there, taunting them both.

But Spathi stopped short. She turned slowly to face him, mouth open as though she wanted to say something but couldn't quite find the words. The look in her eye was not the anger Kolyat had expected, but something… softer. Sadder. "No," she said quietly. "I wouldn't."

And before he could ask what she meant by that, she was gone.


	10. Dangerous

_Chapter 9: Dangerous_

The Mindoir outpost, if it could truly be called such a thing, occupied a warehouse owned by a shell corporation and run by mercenaries. Cerberus used the shipping company to keep its interests on the planet funded and equipped, and the foreman's office provided a control room from which undercover agents could manage operations. The office was tiny, barely large enough for a quantum entanglement communicator, computer terminal, a wall safe, and a small arms locker. But that was all right. It was positively luxurious compared to some other assignments this particular operative had worked in the past. Even as the aftermath of the war still wracked the galaxy, Cerberus spared no expense.

As the operative stepped onto the QEC's transmission pad, however, her mind dwelt not on the resources at her disposal, but on the dressing-down she was about to receive.

A holographic image of her superior, a man she knew only as the Director, materialized before her. The operative marveled again at how such an unassuming-looking man—short, surprisingly young, and clad in a scientists' uniform—could radiate the kind of arrogance he did. Of course, he had the power to back it up. _"Report,"_ he ordered.

The operative's jaw clenched. This would not be taken well. "The bomb detonated as planned," she said, "but there was… interference. Shepard lives."

" _I see."_ The Director frowned, folding his arms and rocking back on his heels. _"What kind of interference?"_

"Some off-duty cop stuck his nose where it didn't belong," she sneered. "He found the drone the bomb was hidden in and tried to hack into it. I was able to counter some of his attacks, but whatever he did, it dampened the explosion."

" _Incompetence. I expected better from you."_

Though she seethed inwardly at the rebuke, the operative returned his glare levelly. "My intel was incomplete. Some improvisation was required." She shrugged. "The important part is that the bomb went off. When its origins are discovered, the effect may well be the same."

" _I will decide what is important,"_ the Director snarled. _"Your orders stand: you will kill Admiral Shepard, and you will implicate the hanar in her death. How you accomplish that from here on out is up to you."_ He smiled cruelly. _"Further 'improvisation' may be required."_

* * *

Kolyat stood at a stiff parade rest in front of Captain McGann's desk, staring resolutely at the wall and praying she would read his obvious anxiety as concern for Shepard rather than the lie he was about to tell. "I picked up a strange reading. It was faint and I couldn't tell what it was, so I tried to trace it," he began, keeping to as much truth as possible. "It wasn't until I pinned it down to the camera drones that I realized what it was. By then, it was too late. I tried to hack its computer, but its code had been rewritten. I couldn't stop it."

"And why, exactly," McGann demanded coldly, "were you scanning anything to begin with? You didn't trust your colleagues with Admiral Shepard's safety?"

The thought of lying to her was absolutely terrifying, but he couldn't hesitate. He bowed his head and did his best to look sheepish. "Well, no—I mean, that's not—I just… I thought an extra hand couldn't hurt, and I…" he trailed off, not daring to look up to see if she'd bought it.

McGann was silent for a heart-stoppingly long moment. Certain she was analyzing his every movement and inflection for signs of deception, Kolyat struggled to maintain an outward semblance of innocent embarrassment. Finally, just before he risked a peek at her face, she sighed. "Well, I can only thank God you did. You probably saved Shepard's life."

Kolyat sagged with relief.

"I know you're eager to prove yourself," McGann continued. "You did good today, Krios."

A sour taste flooded his mouth, and Kolyat had to fight back a grimace. McGann was stingy with praise. At any other time, those words would have filled him with pride.

Ever since his first day at the academy, he'd been the outsider. The alien. Playing cultural catch-up just so he could talk to his fellow trainees. And then after graduating, he'd become the rookie, the kid, the "FNG."

 _Shepard frowns. She tries to hide it, but I can see the pity in her eyes. "Kolyat… I don't know how to tell you this. It… it doesn't mean 'Friendly' New Guy."_

His "colleagues" had let him introduce himself that way for weeks.

He didn't fit in here yet, not really. So no matter how well he did his job, he often felt like the department's resident screw-up. His mistakes seemed magnified, his achievements diminished. Maybe it was all in his own mind, and maybe it wasn't, but he never felt like anything he did was good enough. So to hear even mild praise directly from the captain should have been a moment of triumph.

But he hadn't earned it. He'd gotten to this point by going behind McGann's back, circumventing procedure, working with an assassin in the employ of a foreign government, and lying to her face. If she ever found out about any of this, she'd strip him of his badge on the spot.

He forced a smile, pushing back the shame so he could fake some pride. "Thank you, ma'am," he said, wincing a little at the roughness of his voice. He cleared his throat. "What happens now?"

McGann arched an eyebrow. "Now we track down the terrorist who planted that bomb. I'll need all the data you gathered on it before it went off."

"Right. Of course." Kolyat opened his omni-tool and transferred the data, his mind racing. If this information implicated the Illuminated Primacy in the bombing, it could spark the very war Spathi had feared. He had to find some way to control it, to keep it from being released to the public before the entire truth had been uncovered.

There was one way. "Captain," he said with as much confidence as he could muster, "I'd like to lead the investigation."

McGann's other eyebrow joined the first in reaching for her hairline. "Oh, you would, now?" she asked dryly. "And why is that?"

"Because…" Kolyat drew a deep breath. This was a risky move, but there were procedures in place that he trusted she would follow. "Because I recognized something in the readings. I think the bomb was hanar in design." It was a gamble. If she let him take charge of the case, he could control the information about it until he'd gathered enough evidence to exonerate the Primacy. But if she didn't, it would be out of his hands.

"Hanar?" McGann frowned as she opened her computer and skimmed over the data he'd sent. "Krios, are you sure?"

"Not a hundred percent," Kolyat hedged, "but nearly." Hopefully, that uncertainty would be enough to keep her from releasing anything too soon.

"Hmm." McGann sat back, gazing at him thoughtfully. "Okay, let's hash this out. You grew up on Kahje. Why would the hanar want to assassinate Admiral Shepard?"

Kolyat shrugged. "I don't know. Shepard saved Kahje during the Reaper War, when a saboteur tried to take down their planetary defenses. The Illuminated Primacy was so grateful, they committed most of their navy to the final battle."

"A navy that's been stuck in Alliance space for two years now." McGann leaned forward, pulled her computer toward her, and started typing. "Thanks for the intel, Krios. You're dismissed."

Kolyat blinked in confusion. "So… does this mean I'm in charge of the investigation?"

"What? Oh." McGann looked up from her work and shook her head. "No. I want Lieutenant Picoult on this."

Clenching his fists behind his back, Kolyat drew a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart. This was a disaster! He had to find some way to make her change her mind. "With all due respect, Captain—"

McGann cut him off with a raised hand and a pained expression. "I hate that phrase. _With all due respect._ It invariably precedes something disrespectful."

"But I—"

"I know what you're going to ask. Why not you?" She narrowed her eyes. "I'm going to be very honest with you, Corporal Krios. I don't trust you yet."

"…and there it is." Kolyat gritted his teeth. _Might as well say it._ "It's because I'm not human, isn't it?"

The words seemed to drop onto the desk between them, clanking and heavy.

McGann suddenly went very still, sitting ramrod straight in her chair, cold steel in her eyes. "Let me tell you something, Corporal Krios," she bit out icily. "I know how much shit you have to put up with, living here. And I know that you're under a considerable amount of strain right now, and your emotions are running very high. Therefore, I will let that accusation fly exactly once. Do you understand?"

Kolyat straightened, schooling his expression to a careful blank. "Yes, ma'am."

"I don't trust you because you haven't earned it yet. You have the makings of a good cop, Krios, but you still have a lot to learn. You're raw. Besides," she added, "you're much too close to this one."

No. No, no, no, she was using the exact reason he needed to do this to keep him out! "But, Captain—"

"I said no." The set of her jaw brooked no argument, even as the tone of her voice softened. "Look, I know how close you and Admiral Shepard are. She's practically family to you; she's your—what is it you call her?"

Kolyat sighed, defeated. _"Vo'triha,"_ he mumbled."It means… well… literally, it's something like 'guardian angel,' but not in the sense you humans use it. It's more like… not quite 'stepmother,' but more than 'mentor'? I… it doesn't really translate."

"Godmother," McGann said with a decisive nod. "She's your godmother."

"Uh…" Kolyat shrugged. "Sure. I guess?" The word didn't translate any better for him than his language did for her, but she seemed to have made a connection. And he didn't feel like discussing it any more.

McGann gave him a kind smile. "Look, why don't you take a leave of absence, Kolyat? As much time as you need. Take care of her." She waved him away when he hesitated. "Go. I'll take care of the paperwork."

"But…" It was no use protesting. He'd have to find some other way to track down the bomber. Of course, how he'd do that without the police department's resources, he had not the faintest idea. But what choice did he have? "Fine, okay." He turned to leave.

"Oh, and one more thing, Corporal Krios."

The sudden air of command in her voice brought him up short.

" _Officially_ , you are not to involve yourself in this case," she said firmly. "But I know you, and I have no illusions about how you'll be spending your time. If you should _happen_ to come across any information that might help… you'll let me know." It wasn't a question.

Kolyat's lips twitched in a faint smile. "Yes, ma'am."


	11. Begin Again

_Chapter 10: Begin Again_

Consciousness returned slowly. The steady beeping of monitors was the first thing to intrude on her awareness, followed by the sharp smell of antiseptic. Shepard dragged her eyes open, blinking in the harsh white light. Everything was blurry, but she could just make out the form of the nurse who hovered over her: the orange glow of her omni-tool, an indistinct white uniform, a smudge of dark hair.

"Good to have you back, Shepard."

The familiar voice jarred her out of the last of her fog as her vision cleared and the face swam into focus. Not a nurse at all. "Mir—Miranda?" she croaked.

Miranda smiled. "Who else could bring you back to life—again?" Some of the alarm that jolted through Shepard like an electric shock must have shown on her face, because Miranda's eyes widened and she backtracked quickly. "Not literally, this time."

"That's… a relief?" Shepard chuckled weakly. "Still, we've got to stop meeting like this."

"No argument here," Miranda agreed, laughing. Then she sobered. "It _is_ good to see you, though the circumstances could certainly be better. Do you remember what happened?"

Shepard considered her answer for a moment, not sure how much to share. She could certainly use Miranda's help with the Cerberus situation, but she didn't want her to get in Spathi's way, either—that could only end badly. "There was a bomb," she said slowly. "At the ceremony. In one of the camera drones. Kolyat was trying to—" She stopped suddenly as an awful thought occurred to her. "Oh, God. Is Kolyat okay?"

"He's fine. Took a few cuts and scrapes from shrapnel, but he was out of the worst of the blast zone," Miranda reassured her. "He wanted to be here when you woke up, but his captain called him in for a debriefing."

Shepard offered a silent prayer of thanks to God, or Arashu, or whoever might be listening. "I'm sure Captain McGann wants all hands on deck for this one," she said. "But what about you? What are you doing on Mindoir?"

"A little blue bird told me there were rumors of Cerberus activity," Miranda replied with a wink. "She asked me to come here and confirm them. So I hitched a ride with some friends of yours." As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. "Speak of the devil. Are you up for some visitors?"

Shepard grinned. She could guess who was there. "I'm not gonna have much of a choice, am I?"

The door slid open to reveal another familiar figure, this one in Alliance Navy blues. "Hey, skipper."

"'Hey, skipper,' yourself," replied Shepard warmly. Noticing the new stripes on Ashley's uniform, she raised her eyebrows. "Look at you, _Captain_ Williams. Congratulations on your promotion."

"Thanks, Shepard." Ashley sat down in the chair beside Shepard's bed as Miranda slipped quietly out of the room. "I'd ask how retirement's been treating you, but…"

Shepard chuckled darkly. "Yeah, there's no rest for the weary, that's for sure." She shook her head. "Actually, it was going great until… well, I was going to say 'today.' How long was I out?"

"Not quite twenty-four hours."

"Damn." Scrubbing a hand down her face, she let out a tired sigh as her fingers encountered bandages and the slight, telltale stickiness of medi-gel. "No wonder I feel like I've been drugged half out of my mind."

Ashley gave her a wry smile. "Yeah, it's pretty bad. The doctor—what's his name, Sikdar?—Dr. Sikdar says you'll be okay, though. Eventually."

"Eventually," Shepard echoed with a snort. "So anyway, what have you been up to, Ash? The Council keeping you on your toes?"

"More or less," said Ashley, shrugging. "The _Normandy_ 's mostly doing supply runs among the outer colonies and running diplomatic missions between the fleets. Not really Spectre-level stuff, but, you know, we do what we can. And humanity could do a hell of a lot worse than having Hackett on the Council. He's doing us all proud."

"And I'm sure you're making him proud, too, Ash."

Ashley sat up straighter and looked Shepard square in the eye. "With respect for the Councilor, ma'am, it's not his opinion I care about."

Tears pricked at Shepard's eyes, her throat constricting. "Ash… I have always been proud of you. And I always will be."

"Thank you, Shepard. That means a lot."

They fell into a companionable, if slightly awkward, silence, neither one certain of what to say next. All of a sudden, Shepard bitterly regretted her stubborn reclusiveness of these past two years. How could she have been so selfish? Hiding away here, wallowing in self-pity and calling it retirement. As if she was the only one who'd fought and sacrificed and suffered. She was wasting away here, while her crew—her friends, her _family—_ were still out there, still working and sacrificing, accomplishing things.

God, how long had it been since she'd spoken to any of them? Garrus still emailed her once a week, like clockwork, with updates on the rebuilding of Palaven, though as her replies had become less frequent, his letters had become less personal. Wrex was too busy rebuilding krogan society from the ground up to do much more than send an occasional hasty text. Kasumi still sent gifts of questionable origin, though at increasingly erratic intervals and with no return address. Zaeed seemed to have dropped off the face of the galaxy altogether, and Jacob was too wrapped up in raising his family reach out very often. And Grunt, Jack, Samara, James, Javik, Tali, Joker… they were all slipping away.

And Shepard had no one to blame, really, except herself. It wasn't fair of her to expect them to shoulder the entire burden of maintaining their relationships with her. After all, she was the one who'd given up, who'd seen the galaxy brought to its knees and declared "My work here is done." She was the one who'd withdrawn when the fight was over and it was time for the hard work to begin. It wouldn't have taken much for her to be the one to reach out.

Just now and then. Just to let them know she was still there.

A moment before the quiet crossed the line from awkward into uncomfortable, Ashley cleared her throat. "Anyway, uh… the _Normandy_ 's due at Shanxi in a couple of days. If we're gonna get there on time, I should probably go." She stood and gave Shepard an apologetic half-smile. "Duty calls."

"That it does," Shepard agreed. "It was good to see you, Ash."

"You too, Shepard." She paused on her way out the door. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"

"I won't. I promise."

She meant it.

* * *

Kolyat's omni-tool pinged as he left the station. A text message from Miranda Lawson: _She's awake._

 _Arashu be praised._ He let out a breath that felt as though he'd been holding it for days, nearly staggering as tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying drained away. It was amazing, really, how two little words could mean so much.

He shouldn't have been surprised. After all, this was far from Shepard's first brush with death. She'd survived plenty of things she'd had no business surviving—one half-cocked bomb in a camera drone wasn't going to take her out. She was tougher than that.

But for the past day, all he'd been able to think about was those first months after the Crucible. Eleven days of deathlike stillness, the savior of the galaxy kept alive by machines and hope and willpower. And then—

 _I can barely see her through the gaggle of doctors and nurses. She's disoriented, panicking. They speak in soothing voices as they remove her breathing tube. She gags, coughs, gasps. But then she sees me._

 _Her whole face lights up. I wonder if she somehow knows how long I've held hopeless, thankless vigil. I smile back, as reassuringly as I can._

 _She speaks. A single word, her voice so roughened by the ventilator I have trouble understanding. She repeats it, reaching for me._

 _I come closer, wanting to help her but not sure how._

 _She says it again, and this time I understand. And the whole room tilts around me._

" _Thane!"_

—and then the long, excruciating weeks of recovery as her body and memories had mended. But she had been different since then. Diminished. Burnt out and exhausted. Even though she'd continued therapy since coming to Mindoir, something in her had never really healed.

Kolyat didn't even want to think about what would be left of her if it happened again.

He dashed off a quick reply to Lawson— _On my way—_ then ran to his skycar and took off for the hospital. The journey seemed interminably long, his mind racing, his imagination tormenting him with baseless and increasingly dire possibilities. What if she'd lost her memory again? Would it ever come back? What if she'd been paralyzed? Brain damaged? Would she be the same Shepard he knew?

What would he do if she wasn't?

He shook his head, forcing back the combination of memories and wild speculation that threatened to drive him to distraction. He'd be no good to her at all if he got himself killed in a car accident before he even got there. Besides, Lawson had assured him that Shepard would recover just fine.

It was lucky she'd already been on her way. Apparently, Dr. T'Soni had contacted her nearly two weeks ago about the Cerberus rumors, and Captain Williams had been able to divert the _Normandy's_ route to bring her here. They had arrived yesterday morning—just in time for Lawson to rush to the hospital and lend her unique expertise to Shepard's care.

She was outside Shepard's room when he arrived. "Oh, good, you're here," she said. "Shepard's been asking about you."

"Thank you, Ms. Lawson," he replied distractedly, and hurried past.

All hospital rooms, Kolyat had long ago concluded, looked and felt pretty much the same. The same sounds and smells. The same soothing colors and bland, inoffensive artwork that only served to make the sterile white and chrome of the medical equipment more unsettling, rather than less. And this one was no different. Kolyat swallowed hard as he took in the all-too-familiar surroundings. It took a deliberate effort of will to keep any number of painful flashbacks at bay.

Shepard greeted him with a weary but genuine smile. "Hey, Kolyat. You made it."

"Of course I made it. You didn't really think I wouldn't come, did you?" He frowned. "You look awful."

She really did. Lying there in a hospital gown, covered in burns and bandages, an IV line in her arm and monitors displaying her vital signs, she looked frail, even weak. Her freckles stood in stark contrast to the pallor of her skin, and her hair scrawled limp, tangled figures like the letters of an indecipherable alien script on the pillow. The sight did nothing to dispel the memories that still threatened to bubble over. He shuddered as he forced himself to stay grounded in the present.

"Gee, thanks," Shepard drawled. "It's okay, no need to sugarcoat it for me."

"Uh…" Kolyat raked a hand over his crest, realizing belatedly how bad that must have sounded. "Sorry, I just… this is… all I meant was…"

Shepard chuckled. "Relax, buddy, I was just messing with you. I feel like shit; I probably look worse."

He grinned back at her despite himself. "Well, you're not wrong." Pulling up a chair beside the bed, he dropped heavily into it, his smile fading. "I was worried about you, _vo'triha,"_ he confessed.

"Nah, you can't get rid of me that easily." She raised her eyebrows at him. "What about you? Heard the boss wanted your take on what happened."

Kolyat grimaced and shook his head. "I think I messed up, Shepard. I figured if I could get McGann to put me in charge of the investigation, I could control what information gets made public. Keep blame off the hanar. So when I gave her the evidence I'd gathered, I offered some of Spathi's intel as 'analysis.'"

Shepard's lips thinned to a tight line. "And?"

"And she put me on leave," he ground out through gritted teeth. "She says I'm 'too close' to this now." He hung his head. "And I think I managed to implicate the Illuminated Primacy, too. I really fucked this all up."

Shepard nodded, not in agreement, but understanding. "So you're going to work this through less official channels. Let me guess: you're about to tell me you're gonna run off with Spathi to chase this guy down."

"No." Kolyat took a deep breath. She wasn't going to like this at all. "Spathi is… well, she's in the wind. I'm going to go after the bomber myself."

"You're going to— _what?"_ Shepard pushed herself up on her elbows, wincing. "Alone?"

He shrugged. "What else can I do?"

"Kolyat…" Her jaw clenched, and suddenly Kolyat could see a bit of the old Commander Shepard in her face. "Remember when I said I'd support you in all your decisions?"

Kolyat folded his arms and raised his eyebrow ridge. He had a sinking feeling he knew where she was going with this. "Of course I do. I'm a drell."

"Don't be a smartass," she snapped. "My point is, I'm excluding this one. This is a terrible idea."

"It's what Father would have done."

As soon as he said the words, he wished he could take them back.

Shepard's eyes widened, and Kolyat could only watch as a kaleidoscope of emotions played across her face before settling on something akin to grief. "That's what I'm afraid of," she said. With a heavy sigh, she fell back onto the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. "Just… be safe, okay?" When she looked at him again, her eyes shimmered with tears. "Come back to me."


	12. Son of Sam

_Chapter 11: Son of Sam_

Miranda studied Kolyat over the rim of her coffee mug. The poor kid was a mess, holding himself together with nothing but caffeine and willpower. His shoulders slumped, his eyes were dull, and his customary sarcasm had faded over the past few days to a weary frustration that was almost defeatist. She suspected he wasn't sleeping well, if at all.

Not that she could blame him. It had been nearly a week since the bombing, and they were barely any closer to anything that might point to the identity of the operative responsible, or the location of the Cerberus cell he belonged to, than they had been then. But despite all the dead ends and setbacks they'd encountered, he pushed on with single-minded determination.

Miranda had never really had the chance to get to know Kolyat before this, but he was turning out to be very much like his father in at least one respect: there would be no swaying him from his mission. He would not allow himself to rest until he'd brought down Shepard's would-be killer.

The difference, however, was that Thane would probably have handled the situation with a bit more equanimity. And a lot less panic.

She couldn't help but wonder if Kolyat's assassin friend was doing any better, though. It wasn't entirely clear to Miranda what had caused him to part ways with this Valka Nuara, but when pressed, he'd shut down completely. He would not hear of trying to work with her again. They were on their own for this.

They were down to one last hope. All of Miranda's remaining Cerberus and ex-Cerberus contacts had come up empty, so she'd had to rely on her knowledge of how they operated, a few suspicious intercepted transmissions, and an uncomfortable amount of luck to gather what intel they could. And all of the little scraps and pieces they'd accumulated were finally starting to look like something useful. Whether it was actually a meaningful pattern or just wishful thinking bordering on desperation, it was impossible to say. But it was the only lead they had.

Right now, they were supposed to be discussing strategy. But instead, Kolyat was staring down into the surface of his tea, stirring it absently, a faraway look in his eyes that made Miranda wonder what memory he was getting lost in.

She set down her own mug and cleared her throat to get his attention. "So, how did you want to handle this, Kolyat?" she asked.

Blinking both sets of eyelids, he looked up at her and seemed to pull himself back to the present with a supreme effort of will. "The evidence we have is circumstantial at best," he grumbled. "We need proof that Quantex is just a shell company. If this supply depot is really just a supply depot…" He shook his head. "I'm thinking we start with a stakeout operation. See what's actually going on down there."

"Smart move," Miranda agreed. "We go in quietly, gather what information we can, and get out."

"Not 'we.' Me." Kolyat narrowed his eyes as if daring her to object. "I'm a police officer. If they see me, I have an excuse to be there. It would be harder to explain you."

Miranda frowned and took him up on his dare. "Kolyat, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the idea of sending you in alone. If it is Cerberus, you'll need backup."

"Only if they get suspicious."

"You're an alien on a human world, poking around their secret operations. Of course they'll be suspicious." Miranda folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. "And they're likely to shoot first and ask questions later."

Kolyat sighed and slumped back in his chair, scrubbing both hands down his face. "Yeah, you're probably right—"

"Of course I'm right."

'—but one of us should probably stay back and keep an eye on Shepard."

And by "one of us," he meant her, of course. He did have a point. Shepard's condition had been worsening rather than improving. From what Miranda could tell, the bomb had damaged some of the cybernetics that were literally holding her together. Combined with the lingering effects of the Crucible, the doctors at Caer Sidi Community Hospital were having a devil of a time keeping them functioning.

A familiar surge of bitterness washed over her, and she gritted her teeth. If only the Alliance brass had let her help Shepard after the Citadel had exploded. Miranda knew those implants inside and out, how they worked, how they interacted, all their functions and their quirks. She probably could have cut Shepard's physical recovery time in half.

But instead, the instant she'd showed up to offer her expertise, she'd been apprehended, interrogated, investigated. After all she'd done for the war effort, all the sacrifices she'd made and lives she'd saved, they couldn't look beyond her past with Cerberus. She hadn't been allowed anywhere near Shepard until after she'd moved back to Mindoir.

And by then, it was too late. The bumbling Alliance doctors had gotten her functional again, but as Miranda had discovered in this past week, they'd fitted her with so many patches and redundancies and circuitous workarounds, it was a miracle she could even walk, let alone have any semblance of a normal life. They'd been simply overwhelmed by the extent of the reconstruction and of the damage done, and their resources in the immediate aftermath of the great battle had been limited, to say the least. So they'd fixed her up as best they could with what amounted to spit and a prayer, and now Miranda had to try to clean up their mess.

Still, she was not looking forward to telling Shepard that Kolyat had gone on this dangerous mission by himself. "Fine," she bit out. "I'll stay, but you try to stay out of sight. Shepard knows I've been helping you with this, so if you get yourself killed, she'll have _my_ head."

"Noted," he said dryly. Activating his omni-tool, he called up a map of the area that included the supply depot in question. He pointed to a dense stand of trees a few dozen meters away from the building. "I'll hide here, get some elevation, and I'll have a clear line of sight over the grounds. They'll never know I'm there."

Miranda fixed him with a pointed glare. "See that they don't."

* * *

Stakeouts were never as exciting as the vids made them out to be. There was usually no witty banter, whether with a partner or via radio. Rarely did they deliver game-changing information. They almost never ended in dramatic chases and heroic arrests. More often than not, they amounted to little more than hours of boredom.

And they were uncomfortable. Kolyat squirmed in his narrow perch high in the branches of a cherry tree, trying to find a position that didn't cut off circulation to one limb or another. Every twitch sent a flurry of pale pink petals fluttering to the ground. The late spring breeze swept even more of them from the trees around him, providing a plausible alibi for the ones disturbed by his movement, but nearly suffocating him with their too-sweet scent. What in Amonkira's name had possessed him to think this was a good idea?

He adjusted his grip on the weapon in his hands. He had foregone binoculars for this mission, opting instead to watch the depot through the scope of a sniper rifle. _Just in case,_ he told himself.

Of course, he didn't own a sniper rifle, himself. The weapon he held now had come from the dusty gun case that lived under Shepard's bed: an old but impeccably maintained Incisor.

It had belonged to his father.

He tried not to think about what Shepard would say if she found out he'd taken it. He tried even harder not to think about this rifle's history, and what it might say about him that he'd found himself drawn to it. This was a stupid idea. It was heavy, awkward in his untrained hands. The field of view was narrow.

But it made him feel powerful. Unseen, unsuspected, but he could end the life of any person down there that he chose. And Gods help him, he _liked_ it. Was this how Father had felt on his assignments? Like an avenging angel, reaching down from on high to smite the wicked and punish the evildoer? Or had it only ever been a job to him, calculated and detached?

Kolyat had asked him, once. Something in his face had ensured he never asked again.

Toward the end, Father had spoken often about the importance of open and honest communication between them. He had insisted that it was the only way to heal the old wounds that had festered for so long. And yet there had always been things he would not talk about, certain parts of his life that he would not—or perhaps could not—discuss. Kolyat had veered back and forth between wanting to allow him his privacy, and thinking him a hypocrite. He still had yet to settle on an answer.

 _Focus, damn it._ Shaking off those distracting thoughts, Kolyat scowled and refocused on the images in the scope.

Workers stacked crates outside the building, probably staging for a pickup. They seemed to be taking orders from a foreman or supervisor just inside the door. From his angle, Kolyat couldn't get a good view of this foreman. He swore under his breath, certain the if he could just get a good look, pieces would start to fall into place. He had no evidence, just a gut feeling, but it was strong.

The foreman barked an order. Kolyat couldn't hear what it was, only the tone of his voice, but all the workers jumped and redoubled their pace.

He scoped in on the crates, adjusting the magnification as high as it would go, until it seemed they were right in front of him. But he could see no markings on them that provided a clue. Nor on the workers' uniforms, simple gray and white jumpsuits with the Quantex logo on the left breast. It was all so infuriatingly ordinary.

The roar of engines overhead drew Kolyat's attention, and a gust of wind nearly shook him from his perch. Incoming cargo shuttle, backlit by the sun until it was little more than a silhouette. He trained his scope on it for a better view, only to be momentarily blinded by the glare. He swore loudly before he caught himself. _Great job, idiot,_ he thought bitterly.

By the time his vision cleared, the shuttle was on the ground, engines still running. The noise drowned out any hope of hearing anything spoken by the workers or their mysterious foreman. But though the craft bore no identifiable markings that he could see, the yellow-and-black logo on the pilot's uniform was unmistakable.

And when the foreman came out to greet him, he wore the same.

Kolyat bared his teeth in a silent snarl. Cerberus. There was no doubt about it now.

His mission had been accomplished, his suspicions confirmed. It was time to get out of here, to go back and report his findings to Miranda and discuss their next move.

But… he had them in his sights. How much chaos could he cause, how far back could he set their plans, if he shot the foreman here and now? Or the pilot? It might not stop whatever Cerberus was up to, but maybe it could delay them. And even a small delay was an advantage for the good guys. Right?

Kolyat centered the crosshairs on the foreman's head. He took a deep breath—and cursed to himself as his sight picture wavered. His hands trembled under the rifle's weight. This was much harder than it looked.

He tried again, allowing the scope to settle on the foreman again as he exhaled slowly. As the last of his breath trickled out his nose, he braced his elbows on the branches around him. The crosshairs steadied. Focused. His finger tightened on the trigger—

—and he jumped in surprise, nearly dropping the rifle, as the barrel of a pistol dug into his back and a voice hissed, _"What are_ you _doing here?"_


	13. It All Adds Up

_Chapter 12: It All Adds Up_

 _Goddess of oceans. He's going to get himself killed._

Nemia stood at the base of the tree with her hands on her hips, squinting up at Kolyat's oblivious form and shaking her head. He was not nearly as stealthy as he thought he was. The Cerberus troops still hadn't noticed him, but he might as well have announced his presence to her.

Rather than call out to him and risk drawing undue attention, she leapt up to grab the lowest branch and climbed into the tree after him. The sound of the incoming shuttle masked most of the noise, but surely Kolyat would feel the swaying and shuddering of the trunk as she climbed. Any second now, he would turn around and confront her.

Except he didn't. He was so laser-focused on the operation he watched that he had no idea she was there, even as she closed to within a meter. Did his overconfidence stem from arrogance or innocence? Perhaps both.

And what in Kalahira's name was he doing with a sniper rifle? He seemed to be using it to survey the goings-on below—stupid. Binoculars would have given him a far better field of view, and been much less cumbersome. And he clearly had no idea how to use the thing. The muzzle wavered all over the place in his hands, his elbows were braced at bizarre angles, and his position was so precarious that if he fired, the kick would probably be enough to knock him out of the tree altogether.

And that _particular_ sniper rifle, that old prototype Incisor… she'd know it anywhere. The sight of it hit her like a punch in the stomach.

Nemia settled into a stable perch right behind Kolyat, watching incredulously as he scoped in on one of the expendable underlings down below. Was he… was he trying to line up a shot? Could he really think anyone there was of any importance to Cerberus's larger scheme? What did he think he was going to accomplish, aside from drawing attention to himself?

 _Damn you to the Depths._ He was going to blow his cover. And hers.

Gritting her teeth, she drew her pistol and pressed it into his spine, making him jump. "What are _you_ doing here?" she growled.

To his credit, he didn't cry out. He did nearly fumble the rifle, though, swearing under his breath in a colorful mix of Rakhish and English. It took him a good two seconds to turn around without losing his balance, and his eyes widened with equal parts surprise and relief when he saw her. "Oh, it's you," he said.

"Fortunately for you," Nemia snapped. "Had I been anyone else, you would be dead. Your situational awareness leaves much to be desired."

At least he had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Uh… apparently," he mumbled. "Thank you for, you know, not killing me."

Nemia kept her pistol trained on him as she cocked her brow ridge. "I haven't decided on that yet," she bit out. "You're putting us both in danger by being here. I told you, I cannot have you interfering with my mission. So answer my question: _what are you doing?"_

"Conducting my own investigation," he shot back indignantly, recovering a little of his bravado. "I told _you_ I was going after the bomber, and I'm on to something." He gestured at the men below with the rifle, and lowered his voice. "These Quantex guys? They're all with Cerberus."

She struggled to swallow the incredulous laugh that threatened to burst forth into his face. "Really?" she hissed. "This is your big lead? I knew that before you even met me, Krios."

Of course, that was intel the Illuminated Primacy had given her before she'd even left the fleet for Mindoir. And young Kolyat had learned it all on his own. Perhaps there was hope for the boy after all.

Nemia holstered her pistol. "Come on, get down before you fall down," she said. "We need to get out of here before we are discovered." Without waiting for his answer, she swung down from the limb she'd been sitting on, descending nimbly through the branches before dropping the last few feet to land softly on the petal-strewn ground.

Kolyat raised his brow ridge skeptically as he stared after her, making a valiant effort to hide his uneasiness. Then he swallowed hard, holstered the rifle on his back, and began carefully picking his way down. But as he neared the last branches, he lost his footing and fell heavily, managing to land on his feet but staggering as he regained his balance. _Clumsy._ With as much dignity as he could still muster, he brushed off the leaves and petals that still clung to him, then folded his arms and met her gaze with a defiant glare. "What do you mean, _we?"_

 _Arashu preserve me, the assassin's son knows no subtlety._ "I mean," Nemia said with a sigh, "that you should reconsider doing this alone. I guarantee that your law enforcement training did not prepare you for it, and I'd just as soon not see you get killed."

"Really?" Kolyat snapped. "What ever happened to 'I will cut you down if I have to,' then?"

"Rash words spoken in anger, in the heat of the moment. You have my apologies," she said curtly. "Besides, you will not be in my way if I'm training you."

The words leapt from her mouth before she could consider them, and Kolyat's face mirrored her own surprise. But the more she thought about it, the better an idea it seemed. It was not without its risks, of course, but if she were to succeed in her mission, she needed someone she could trust. And for all his naïveté and callowness, she did believe she could trust him. The rest could be taught, if he were willing.

Kolyat blinked at her in astonishment. "You want to _train_ me? To do what?"

"To hunt. To kill," she replied bluntly. "This is not about making an arrest, Krios. I am not here to bring in a criminal; I am here to eliminate a threat. I would teach you my methods. Your father's methods."

"And what makes you think I want to be anything like my father?" Kolyat shot back.

Nemia closed the distance between them on two long strides, a sudden flare of anger erupting hot and bright behind her eyes. By all the gods, could he really have so little self-awareness? It was blindingly obvious in every move he made. With one hand, she seized him by the shoulder, and she snatched the rifle off his back with the other. "I would recognize this weapon anywhere," she snarled, shaking it in his face. "It belonged to him. Its history is his. And you dishonor his memory with your clumsy—"

She caught herself and gritted her teeth, letting out a huff of breath that was almost a growl. Berating him at this stage would accomplish nothing but to confuse the boy. Forcing herself to speak more calmly, she said, "Whether you know it or not, you still seek his approval. He cannot give it. But if you want to do something that would have made him proud… come with me."

She handed Thane's rifle back to Kolyat, and he took it slowly, almost reverently, staring down at it as though he'd never seen it before. Finally, he raised his eyes to hers. "Okay," he said. "Where do we start?"

* * *

"That concludes our business for today, then," said Tevos with a decisive nod. "This session of the Council is adjourned."

Hackett tucked his datapads neatly into his briefcase, then passed and scrubbed a hand down his face. Exhaustion dragged at his very bones. The post-war reconstruction effort continued to be a nightmare, plagued with bickering and beset by complications. Thanks in large part to the Shadow Broker, galactic communication was finally beginning to come back online, so only now could a detailed analysis of the state of the galaxy be performed. And it was every bit as bleak as he'd feared.

Many of the homeworlds and most major colonies still lay in ruins. With the mass relays down and most of the fleets stranded in the Local Cluster, interstellar trade had ground to a halt, leaving whole economies on the brink of collapse. Resources were limited, so reconstruction was proceeding slowly. Populations had been decimated, with huge numbers of survivors displaced. Those few worlds that had largely escaped the Reapers' wrath were providing what they could, whether by exporting resources or resettling refugees, but cracks were beginning to form. Unrest simmered on every world, waiting to boil over.

And efforts to rebuild the Charon and Trebia mass relays connecting Earth and Palaven were progressing even more slowly. The scientists still barely understood the technology. Though the relays had once been populated by the same Keepers that had maintained the Citadel, the engineers working on them now had found none alive. The Crucible's blast had killed them along with the Reapers.

Yes, the Reapers were gone, and the civilizations of the galaxy had survived to see the cycles broken. But it seemed they'd shot themselves in the collective foot in the process. At this rate, it might be centuries before anything resembling normalcy could be restored. If ever.

"Councilor Hackett."

Hackett straightened at his name, and turned to see his turian colleague standing beside him. "Councilor Sparatus. What can I do for you?"

Sparatus's mandibles flicked hesitantly. "Has there been any news about Admiral Shepard?"

"No, not for a few days," Hackett replied. "Communications with Mindoir have been spotty. There's something interfering with the new comm buoys in the area, and we just don't have the resources to allocate for an investigation."

"I see." Sparatus clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his voice. "Steven, I was wondering if you and I might have a word." He cast a surreptitious glance at Valern and Tevos, who were busily gathering their things and pretending not to listen. "In private."

Hackett raised an eyebrow and kept his face carefully neutral. Something in Sparatus's demeanor was off, but he clearly didn't want that brought to the attention of their fellow Councilors. "Of course. Your office, or mine?"

His weak, halfhearted attempt at a joke either went straight over Sparatus's head, or else Sparatus simply chose not to dignify it with a reaction. "Mine, if you don't mind."

"Lead the way, then."

This time of day, the corridor that led from the Council chambers to its members' private offices was flooded with light streaming in through the large windows that stretched nearly floor to ceiling along its entire length. The building's climate control kept out the heat of the Australian summer, but the sun warmed everything it touched within. And the view of the city outside was really quite spectacular.

Hackett had been one of the most vocal proponents of setting up the Council on Earth until the Citadel could be rebuilt. They'd spent far too much of galactic history light-years removed from the people they governed, he'd argued. Rather than waste resources finding and moving to a more traditionally central location, let them spend some time in the trenches. Let them see for themselves the day-to-day struggles of those recovering from the Reapers' devastation, rather than relying on reports. And let them be seen, a familiar symbol of civilization and hope.

But rather than establish their seat in London or Vancouver or another hard-hit city, the other Councilors had insisted on the relatively intact Sydney instead, and Hackett had been forced to accept that as a compromise. And he had to admit, looking out these windows to see people going about more or less normal lives was comforting, even inspiring. But still, it made him feel removed from the realities of the Great Reconstruction. It almost made him homesick for the Fleet—at least as an admiral, he'd been in the thick of things.

He had little time to reflect on this, however, as the offices were only a short distance from the Council chambers. Sparatus wasted no time as the door slid shut behind them. "Steven, I don't want this to go on official Council record, at least not yet," he began. "That's why I wanted to have this conversation away from the others, outside Council chambers."

"Oh?"

Sparatus shifted his weight uneasily. "There are some… disturbing rumors beginning to circulate around the fleets," he said. "It's been suggested that the hanar may be behind the bombing on Mindoir."

 _Jesus Christ._ Hackett's eyes widened. "The hanar?" he demanded incredulously. "What's the evidence?"

"Only rumor, at the moment," said Sparatus. "The Illuminated Primacy denies it, of course. But with interspecies relationships strained as they are, those rumors are proving difficult to quell. As the human Councilor, I'd hoped you might be able to help put them to rest. Discreetly."

"I see." Hackett rubbed his chin thoughtfully, considering his options. "I could talk to Ashley Williams. We could use a Spectre on this, even unofficially," he mused. "And I'll keep trying to get in touch with someone on Mindoir. Shepard was in pretty bad shape, last I heard, but Miranda Lawson and Kolyat Krios are with her. Maybe one of them knows something."

Sparatus's mandibles fluttered uneasily. "Are you sure Lawson and Krios can be trusted?"

"What makes you think they can't?" Hackett countered.

"Lawson is ex-Cerberus—"

"—cleared of all charges."

"—and Krios is a drell." Sparatus folded his arms under his keel, raising his brow plates. "If it turns out the Primacy is indeed behind this, his sympathies for the hanar make him at best unreliable, and at worst… a suspect."

Hackett backed up a step in surprise. "A _suspect?"_ he scoffed. "Let me stop you right there, Caelius. I had the chance to get to know Kolyat in the days right after the Crucible, and I guarantee you, he has no particular love for the hanar." He shook his head firmly. "His loyalty is first and foremost to Shepard. He's a good kid—there's no way he's involved."

But Sparatus still looked doubtful. "If you say so, Steven. I certainly hope you're right."


	14. In Memory

_Chapter 13: In Memory_

Spathi had a standing arrangement with the operator of a combat simulator in Caer Sidi: she slipped him a few extra credits, and he shut off the security cameras during her sessions. It wasn't quite the Armax Arsenal Arena on the Citadel, she said, but it would do. And so the next several weeks went by in a blur of late nights, early mornings, and perpetually sore muscles. Workouts, sparring matches, practice scenarios, and marksmanship drills were interspersed with the kind of detective work the police department never would have imagined.

Kolyat quickly came to understand some of Spathi's impatience with him. As a cop, his hands were bound by law. But she, as an assassin, had no such restrictions. She didn't have to worry about whether her intel was legally obtained or admissible in court. All that mattered for her was getting closer to her target.

That was all. None of this was about determining guilt. It wasn't about motive or probable cause. The target had already been found guilty and sentenced to death. The assassin was only the executioner.

It took some time before Kolyat stopped balking at that. He'd worked hard to internalize everything the police academy had taught him, but now he had to unlearn it all. Briefly, he wondered if he'd ever be able to go back, and what it might mean if he couldn't. But there was no time for such worries now.

Even the combat techniques he'd learned proved largely useless. He'd been taught to defend himself and innocent bystanders, and to subdue suspects, not kill them. Deadly force was a last resort, permissible only when all other options had been exhausted. And the times something like _that_ happened in the sleepy little town of Annwn's Hollow were few and far between, indeed.

The hand-to-hand Spathi was teaching him was a completely different story. It was vicious, brutal, and utterly without mercy. The attacks were designed to incapacitate a target just long enough to land a killing blow. She taught him how to wait in ambush, and attack from behind, or above, or the side. She taught him how to break knees, crush tracheas, gouge eyes, and snap necks. She taught him to kill with a blade: how and where to stab, what arteries lay close to the surface, which organs could be reached with an easily concealable dagger.

Even though the targets were only holograms, Kolyat had hesitated at first, earning him growled curses from Spathi when they escaped or turned around and "killed" him. Once, she'd gotten so frustrated with his hangups that she'd frozen the simulation mid-scenario. The target, a burly human male with utterly ridiculous facial hair, had knocked Kolyat flat on his back, pinned him down with a knee on his chest, and drawn a knife. The point of the blade had been mere centimeters from Kolyat's left eye when the program paused.

" _That was pathetic, Krios," Spathi snarls. She stalks toward where I'm lying on the ground, stuck under the motionless combinations of photons and forcefields holding me down as if with real weight. "He was completely unaware of your presence until you gave yourself away._ Check the shoulder _when you approach from behind, damn it. Then all you'd have to do is break his neck." She folds her arms and glares down at me. "Or you could have just_ shot _him."_

 _I stare up at my target, at the eyes wild with rage, and the mouth locked in a rictus of fury. If he were real, I'd be very dead right now. I swallow hard and suppress a shiver. "I meant to take him down first," I offer weakly._

" _Why?" Spathi counters. With a wave of her omni-tool, the target vanishes, and I can breathe again. She reaches down to help me up. "You had the element of surprise. Don't_ ever _give that up until you have to." She turns on her heel and walks away. "Reset. Do it again. And use your damned head this time."_

He'd come a long way since then. In just a few short weeks, he'd learned to shed his inhibitions and attack without mercy. He'd learned to use modded rounds, and how to handle a sniper rifle. He'd learned how to stalk a target unseen, and how to determine the best moment to strike.

But one area in which his previous training did prove useful was in erasing evidence. He knew exactly what investigating officers would look for, what they'd notice, what they'd find suspicious—and how to counter it all. It made him a natural at covering up his

 _(crimes)_

activities. Even Spathi had to admit to being impressed, if grudgingly so.

Now, he scoped in on today's target: another human, this one short and slender, balding, and wearing the uniform of a Cerberus scientist. Kolyat let out a long, slow breath, waiting patiently for the right moment. Father's rifle felt much more comfortable and familiar in his hands. The sense of power he'd felt that first time, wedged in the branches of a tree with only a vague plan and no real idea what he was doing, came flooding back tenfold. He was so much better at this now. It came so easily. Maybe it really was in his blood.

 _I wish you could see this, Father._

The crosshairs wavered, steadied, settled. As the last of the air trickled out of his lungs, he quickly pulled the trigger.

Three rounds burst from the muzzle as the crosshairs jerked to the right, missing the target. The man jumped, cursing, staring wildly around him to try and find where the shot had come from. Without hesitation, Kolyat repositioned his rifle, found his target again, and fired once more. This time, all three bullets found their mark, drilling into the man's forehead in a spray of red blood, and he fell. _Got him!_

As the simulation dissolved around him, Kolyat stood and grinned at Spathi, unable to contain his elation. "Did you see that? I'm starting to think I missed my calling!"

But Spathi only scowled at him. "Remember those words when the target is a flesh and blood person," she snapped. "Tell me then if you feel the same."

Kolyat gritted his teeth, deflated. Merciful Kalahira, she knew how to kill a mood. There seemed to be no pleasing this woman. "You have to admit I'm getting better, at least," he shot back.

Tucking her hands behind her back, Spathi eyed him coldly. "That, you are," she acknowledged with a curt nod. "You cannot hope to measure up to the standards of the Compact in so little time, but you are indeed improving." She turned and headed for the exit. "Enough of this for today. Come. We will eat."

* * *

They ate together in silence: hers thoughtful, his sullen and petulant.

Kolyat's skills certainly were improving; there was no denying that. In fact, he was progressing much faster than Nemia had feared. Some skills, it seemed, were at least partly genetic—he'd clearly inherited his father's coordination, stamina, and intelligence. If he'd been given to the Compact as a child, f he had been trained properly, he could have made quite a name for himself, indeed.

But he had his father's pride, too, and the same thirst for new challenges that had driven Thane to take on increasingly risky jobs and execute them in dangerously showy fashion. Though he'd never have admitted it, Thane had wanted to be seen when he was young. He had craved the accolades of his peers and the respect of his teachers. And now Kolyat was demonstrating that same perilous desire for attention.

However, Kolyat did not seem to have quite the same drive for perfection that had earned Thane the renown he'd attained. His performance in that last scenario this evening had been sloppy. The way he'd jerked at the trigger, hard enough to shift the entire rifle, would have earned a Compact trainee hours of extra drills—Nemia could almost hear Sere Xiphas's stern lectures. Thane would never have been satisfied with a two-shot kill, especially not in sniper training with an unshielded target. And yet young Kolyat crowed over exactly that as if it were some kind of achievement.

Well, for him, it was. Perhaps she was being too hard on him. Though it was true that they had a job to do and no time for her to hold his hand, she also had to remember that by the time she was his age, she'd had seventeen years of training behind her. Kolyat, on the other hand, had only three weeks ago been poised to knock himself out of a tree with that rifle. But now he controlled it rather than the other way around. It had lost its mystique, its novelty. His technique still left something to be desired, but by all measures, he really was making excellent progress.

She should tell him that, probably. Though Nemia wasn't used to teaching, memories of her own training were as always only a thought away. A frustrated and demoralized student would get nowhere, and only come to resent his teacher. She had seen it happen more than once—had come close herself on a few occasions—and it never ended well.

However, she didn't want to encourage overconfidence. She'd seen that before, too. Overconfidence got assassins killed. Even the best ones. Especially the best ones.

Before she could say anything, though, Kolyat broke the silence. "This is going to come out of nowhere, but I can't ignore it any longer," he said. "What happened, between you and my father? The way you talk about him, I can't decide if you loved him or hated him."

"Your father…" Nemia chuckled mirthlessly. "Your father was a character when he was young. We trained together under the same teacher, and we were, shall we say, _competitive_ with one another. He was more than a year younger than I, and yet he always seemed to just outdo my best efforts. And the really infuriating part was that, though I worked and pushed and fought to hone my skills to perfection, he barely seemed to try. It all came as naturally to him as breathing.

"He knew it, too. He was an insufferable braggart. Reckless. Hotheaded." She gave Kolyat a sideways glance. "You're a lot like him, you know."

Kolyat bared his teeth in a snarl. "I am _nothing_ like him."

But Nemia only laughed. "You didn't know him when I did. Did you know that he once took on a turian Cabalist— _hand to hand?_ Just because he could!" She shook her head. "I never did figure out just what he was trying to prove. But there was obviously something."

"So you were jealous?" Kolyat asked.

"Jealous? Hardly," she sneered. "He was an idiot. But our handler couldn't see that—all Orander cared about was that he got the job done. So I had to take it upon myself to keep him in check."

And just like that, the last twenty-eight years melted away and she was fifteen again. _"Primary target is down. Secondary has something in his hand. I scope in closer, still can't identify it._ 'Take the shot,' _Krios commands. Against my better judgement, I do._

" _The volus collapses. The object rolls out of his hand. I can hear it beeping over the radio: a grenade! I curse. 'Thane, it's a deadman switch!'"_

Nemia shook her head as she pulled herself out of the memory. "He nearly got himself killed that day," she spat. "He didn't see the damned grenade because he was _grappling with a krogan_ at the time. He was _fourteen._ Do you know how small he was at that age? Until that grenade showed up, I thought that krogan was going was going to break him in half."

Kolyat stared at her, all wide-eyed wonder. "So what happened?"

He just wasn't getting it, was he? Nemia sighed. "He managed to get away long enough to grab the grenade and stop the countdown, but he couldn't let go or it would explode. And the krogan was still charging him! I was on sniper, too far away to do much, but I was able to take down the krogan's shields and stagger him. That gave Thane enough time to fire off a Warp, and then shoot him." She snorted. "And he came back bragging about taking the brute down one-handed. _I_ had to deactivate the grenade before he could let go. _He_ bragged about that mission for weeks."

"That… that doesn't really sound like him." The look on Kolyat's face was almost funny. She could almost see his brain shorting out as he struggled to reconcile her story with the Thane he'd known.

"He grew up, over the years," she conceded. "It was only a few years afterward that he took on a mission that tamed his ego a bit. I never did know all the details, but there were whispers he'd gotten his partner killed. And he did insist on working alone after that." She set down her fork and leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. "Until he met your mother. Then he left the Compact and vanished, as far as I was concerned, for about five years. I ran into him again shortly after he took up freelancing, when I was on a job. We…"

"You what?" Kolyat prompted when she paused.

"Suffice it to say, for now, that things between us became… heated." She scratched absently at the scar on her cheek. Her lips twitched in a small smile she couldn't entirely suppress, and she let out a short huff of laughter. "Did I love him or hate him? I suppose the answer is yes."


End file.
